


Desperately Seeking Sammy

by stacy_l



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angst, Assault, Captivity, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stacy_l/pseuds/stacy_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to maintain his sanity Dean must reconnect with his brother or risk tumbling head first into insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not All Are Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at a psychological thriller so expect quite the array of twists and turns within, also despite what the story may seem like initially this is NOT a death fic. Remember that in these types of stories not everything may be as it seems. : )
> 
> Story originally started in December 2008. Now complete.

[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4656297)

**PART 1: Not All Are Lost**

The room was small. If any light could touch it, reach into its pitch black depths, one would see it was made of stone, a grey black stone covered with a thin film of sticky moisture. The floor was nothing more than dirt, hard packed earth that was also somewhat damp to the touch. Three of the walls were unyielding stone, the fourth? Bars and a metal door locked from the outside. Beyond the door were countless other rooms similar in construction. They stretched for miles, all veiled in inky blackness, silent and empty. 

In the darkness, almost malevolent in nature, sounds could sometimes be heard piercing the silence: eerie whining, footsteps echoing beyond the doors, incessant pacing combined with thousands of soft quiet whispers belonging to what one could only assume were the multiple flickering shadows that seemed to appear and disappear at random. The worst was the high pitched wails and the shrill screams that would rent the air when least expected. When the place was silent it felt like a tomb, the quiet growing so profound that it was overwhelming. The silence was deafening, suffocating, a living breathing entity that latched on, sinking its teeth in, and determined to drive anyone it came into contact with to the brink of madness. 

The place itself smelled dank and moldy, stagnant and stale from being kept closed and boarded up for so long. The scent of dirt and musk was so strong one could almost taste the sweet sharp tang of it in their mouth. There were other smells too some random, like the occasional scent of aftershave or food, and some ever present, such as the smell of rotting wood and decay. The air was so thick, the stillness of it so heavy that sometimes even breathing became a challenge that is until one grew accustomed to it, but even if they did breathing would still become an occasional struggle for one to undergo. 

If one were to shed light on all aspects of the building then one would see it was in a sore state of disrepair. The walls were covered in paint now peeling, tearing away and exposing the harsher stone beneath. The floor was lined with countless debris, the most common being those bits of paint and mortar that had crumbled away throughout the years. Where bare stone was exposed lay a thin grey film of mildew and mold gathered there from the collection of moisture that had accumulated through the years. Cobwebs had gathered in almost every conceivable corner of the building and dust was settled in a fine layer across everything within. Old metal cots lay in rusting heaps scattered throughout, along with broken legs of tables and chairs. Papers now crumpled and brittle were strewed about the main rooms and macabre devices could be spotted in various other rooms most broken, rusting away, harmless now to those they had most likely been used against in the past. 

The building lay dormant, dark and abandoned. It hadn’t been used in over forty years, time made its mark upon the walls, the weather carving into the exterior and breaching the interior where the roof no longer held. Some areas were prone to flooding in times of heavy rain, while other areas were prone to collapse when the rotting roof decided it no longer wanted to remain intact. Still most of the building held together surprisingly well against the constant battering of abuse and the continuous passage of time. The place was old and decrepit, long forgotten, isolated, sitting in the middle of no where, buried now by nature, choked out, now concealed amongst the trees, no more than a distant memory to most, but sturdy enough to still be of use to some. 

Despite all its downfalls it had quite a few positives, for it was the last place anyone would think to look, the last place anyone would dare to enter and that alone made it _perfect_.

* * * *

Eleanor McCartney had dreamed of being a nurse all her life. She wanted to help people and save lives. People would mock her when she was in school believing that since she was attractive and young that she had no sense about her, but they were wrong. The petite blonde, blue eyed girl refused to be dissuaded from her lifetime goal. She struggled and fought to get what she wanted, striving against all odds to gain what she desired. She became a nurse when she was twenty-one. After that she returned to school deciding she wanted to become a doctor, a psychiatrist. Six years later she accomplished that goal and has been a counselor ever since. 

She had seen a lot through the years. People coming and going some able to be healed, some not. She knew what was out there. She wasn’t ignorant or uninformed. She knew that the world beyond her window was harsh and cold, cruel to some, condemning to most. Death and destruction, violence and rage interlaced every bit of it destroying families, people, and lives. She had seen what the cruelties of the world could do to another and strove to help in any way she could those that were able to rise above it and seek help. Some she could get through to but others not so much. Still she managed to at least establish some kind of a rapport with all of them, all of them except one. 

_He_ was her special case, admitted when he was young, a witness to the brutality of life. He had been with her for a while now and in all that time she couldn’t break through to him. Countless times she wanted to give up on him, but once she’d turn her back on him determined to walk out of the life of a young man who obviously didn’t want to _be_ helped she would get as far as the door and stop. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him. She _couldn’t_ give up on him, and she wouldn’t. When she would realize she had been angry with him she would return to him and apologize assuring him that he would never be alone. 

He never said anything and never had any visitors except the nursing staff. No one would visit him despite the fact that his records listed a brother and a father as next of kin. The mother she noted was listed as deceased having perished in a fire when he was very young. She wondered sometimes if that was his reason for silence. Perhaps he had seen something that night or remembered something. Most people would say that he recalled nothing for he had been too young to remember, but she wasn’t so sure she believed that herself. 

Shaking her head she halted at the door to his room drawing in a calming breath as she prepared to visit him. Once relaxed she entered spotting him sitting by the window smiling softly for the first time ever. Her breath hitched. He was beautiful when he smiled and it was the first expression she had ever seen crossing his facial features other than the blank stare. She wondered what could make him smile like that and quietly approached softly asking, “Dean, what are you looking at?” 

He said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge her, but the smile stayed in place. Lowering to his eye level she looked out the window and saw the playground off in the distance. There were kids playing there prompting her to ask, “Are you watching the kids, Dean?” 

Again he said nothing, she wondered if he even heard her, his gaze was locked so intently on the kids. She searched her mind for a name, his brother’s name, and against her better judgment softly inquired, “Are you thinking of your brother, Dean? Are you thinking of Sam?” 

His response was nothing, no reaction except to carefully lift his hand and place it against the window as if reaching out to grab something and hold onto it. She continued to watch the kids swallowing hard as she focused again on his hand pressed so firmly against the glass. She turned, her gaze settling on his face noticing again how pale he was, his short cropped blonde hair standing out against his paler complexion. When her eyes caught sight of a single glistening stream that now ran down over his cheek she gasped. She was certain then that her guess had been right. He was thinking of his brother. A lump formed in her throat as she nodded then asked, “Do you mind if I sit with you for awhile, Dean?” 

When he didn’t react she inclined her head and drew a chair next to him settling in it, used to the silence that was, had always been, such an integral part of him since his admission here. 

She glanced out the window again seeing the kids playing noticing that Dean was now rubbing the window gently with his hand. The sense of loss she gained from that simple gesture was like a sucker punch to her gut as she realized why his brother never visited. Unable to silence the question she released it in a strained whisper, “Is your brother alive, Dean?” 

His gaze faltered, his hand dropped from the window and he lowered his head the wistful smile that had moments before graced his youthful face now gone to be replaced by overwhelming sadness. It was then she allowed the tears to fall silently crying for him and his loss as she suddenly began to understand just why he was here and why he had never been visited by another…


	2. Finding a Way

**PART 2: Finding a Way**

Climbing out of the Impala, Sam immediately shrugged deeper into his thin jacket. The air was cold here in Colorado, much colder than he was used to. Glancing at his watch he noted it was 8:30. The drive here was long, and he hoped it would pay off. If it didn’t then he might never find his brother. He was going on piss poor intel given to him by a less than reputable source. Someone had recognized his missing poster and had called in. They stated that in mid-August they had seen Dean in a local tavern. He had asked if they were sure, and they had informed him that he had helped them out of a scuffle with some of the locals. The answer had bothered him, still did, for he wondered why Dean would run all the way to Colorado and not call him. Why did Dean seem to be running from _him_? 

Shaking his head he approached Johnson’s Pub feeling his heart pounding in his chest as his phone rang. He answered it quickly forgetting to look at the number as he automatically asked, “Dean?” 

“No Sam. I’m sorry.” 

“Bobby…” 

“Yeah…” 

“Did you find anything?” 

“No, not yet… I called Ellen. She’s…” 

“Ellen?” 

“Yeah, figured it wouldn’t hurt to call her, she might turn something up we haven’t.” 

“Good idea, Bobby.” 

“I thought so… So you have any ethereal visitors lately, Sam?” 

“No, Bobby, just silence. They won’t help.” 

“Stubborn bastards… They pull him out but won’t help locate him.” 

“Yeah…” 

“You at the bar?” 

“Following a lead…” 

“Not much of one, Sam.” 

“Better than none…” 

“Yeah well don’t get your hopes up. It might be nothing.” 

“I still have to look into it, Bobby. He’s out there somewhere. We just have to find him.” 

“Yeah I’ll keep searching on my end.” 

“Thanks Bobby.” 

Silence stretched between them for several moments before Bobby spoke again, “Sam, I don’t think he was there, and if he was that’s not where he was taken from. Whoever took him wouldn’t have allowed him to sit in a bar all by his lonesome when they were trying to capture him. I think he was taken from the location of your last hunt probably snatched right from the hotel parking lot.” 

“Look, Bobby, I asked around and nobody saw anything. The one who did said only that he saw Dean walking through the parking lot that night. He couldn’t tell me if Dean was alone or with anyone. He couldn’t tell me anything other than he thought he saw a van driving away not long after seeing Dean.” 

“And after the van left was Dean still in the lot or did he say he was gone?” 

“Nah he said he looked up but didn’t see Dean anywhere just that black van pulling away.” 

“Sam I hate to say this but that black van, we need to get the license plate and…” 

“Already did Bobby, they came up clean as far as I can tell.” 

“As far as you can tell…? Well that doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot Sam.” 

“The plates led me here, Bobby. Is it just a coincidence that Dean was apparently spotted here around the same time?” 

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know. You be careful.” 

“Aren’t I always, Bobby?” 

“No. Keep your ass out of trouble or you’ll be no good to your brother.” 

“Yes dad.” 

He grinned despite the darkness of his mood hearing Bobby mumbling about smart asses on the other end. He then disconnected the line and put the phone away before heading into the bar. The moment he stepped inside he was greeted by a pretty red head who smiled asking, “How can I help you, sugar?” 

“Um I was wondering if your boss was here. I’d like to ask him a few questions.” 

“About…?” 

“My brother, he’s missing and…” 

“Brother as pretty as you, hon…?” 

Sam grinned before continuing, “Look I’d really appreciate it if…” 

“Have his picture?” 

“What?” 

“Do you have his picture? I work every night here, might have seen him myself.” 

Drawing out his brother’s photograph he held it out to her mumbling, “Sure, sure… Here he’s…” 

Accepting the picture she drew it to her and smiled saying, “Came in several weeks ago asking for help, said he was in need of shelter, a place to bed down for the night. Looked like he’d been running, face was marked up, wrists too. I asked if he needed a doctor but he refused. He stayed ‘round long enough to help a traveler with the locals before he disappeared again.” 

“Again…? Are you sure this is the man you saw?” 

“Yeah, never forget those eyes. He seemed pretty distracted, constantly glanced at the door. I offered him a drink. He declined, said he needed a clear head to get out of the mess he was in.” 

“What…what happened then?” 

“He left.” 

“He left just like that? No questions, no…” 

“He was stopped in the lot by a couple of men. I watched them. Looked like a friendly group of people so I walked away. When I turned back he was gone, so were they. Went outside to see where he went, found this…” 

She drew an item from behind the counter and laid it before Sam. The moment Sam saw it his heart leaped to his throat. He picked it up and hit the power button. The names that came up were all familiar, at the very top was his own. He had found Dean’s cell phone. 

“Damn so much for tracking his cell…” 

The woman leaned forward gazing over his shoulder as she inquired, “That his?” 

“Yeah…” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Nah don’t be. You’ve been a great help really. Here.” 

He handed her some money thanking her then turned to leave. She stopped him before he reached the door as she said, “Arizona plates.” 

“What?” 

“The car those men were near had Arizona plates on them. Don’t know if that helps but it’s something. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you and hope you find him.” 

“Yeah me too, me too…” 

“Hey you have a number I can reach you at in case they show up again.” 

“Oh yeah sorry, here…” 

Sam quickly wrote his cell phone number down on a napkin and handed it to her before heading out the door. She watched him walk away sad now that she hadn’t paid more attention to the exchange in the parking lot…or the young man who had come staggering into her bar that night looking as if he’d run ten rounds with a pissed off bull and lost.

* * * *

The mind is a funny thing often storing details that many don’t want to remember while forgetting those things they _need_ to remember. His mind is stuck on instant replay, not all the time but in the night when he closes his eyes, when he dreams assorted memories and images appear some making sense, while others don’t seem quite right. Those memories he wants most to forget are the most vivid and the most confusing. They’re crystal clear as if the events had happened mere hours ago, but they are muddled by so many others that scramble together merging into one incoherent jumble, which images are real and which one’s aren’t are left for him to decipher. 

The walls remain intact strong, trapping him inside but sometimes there are breaches and cracks in the façade that reveals to him the bitter truth of it all. Usually when he grabs hold of it moments later it’s torn away, shredded into pieces as if someone is forcing those cracks to seal and close. When he awakes he feels weaker. He opens his mouth to cry out, to scream but there is no sound. He’s trapped in silence, unable to breach it, unable to break free. 

He shivers violently curling up tighter into a ball attempting to keep in what little warmth he can, yet still he shivers. As he settles and calms the sweet tangy scent of earth and dirt flares his nostrils and for a moment, a brief instant in time, he finds himself free of the cage his mind has placed him in. The veil lifts ever so briefly. He reaches out and the cage slams shut again. 

She’s back. He can hear her infinitely patient speaking with him, talking to him, sitting with him and stubbornly refusing to leave his side. She asks him about Sam, and he tries not to remember. The pain and grief is still too strong though his brother died so very long ago. She softens her voice asking him why he won’t speak, why he can’t speak. He’s confused by the statement knowing full well he can and turns to gaze at her. She smiles brightly as their eyes connect blue clashing with green. Her hand lowers to his face. She cups his cheek and he tries to speak, but again no sounds escape. He grows frustrated as he attempts to communicate with her finding that she is correct, that his voice is gone. He breaks the eye contact and she immediately begins to reassure him, telling him that it will return in time and that he’s just not ready to unveil his voice to the world yet. 

He nods unaware of how it makes her stomach flutter and her smile broaden as she draws from him more than he gave the day before. He settles in the bed drawn towards the window as soft giggles float towards him. He sits up and gently pushes past her as he approaches it smiling again as he sees the children in the playground. She moves to stand beside him inquiring as to what he’s looking at and asking if the children are back. He doesn’t answer her though, simply presses a hand to the cold glass as he watches them from afar. 

She turns to gaze outward smiling as she speaks, “You really enjoy seeing them don’t you, Dean?” 

He wants to respond but finds he can’t so he continues to watch the children play refusing to admit that he can’t yet communicate with her. Her voice softens as she whispers, “I like seeing them too, Dean. I like seeing them too.” 

His smile is back and he hears her breath hitch. He’s momentarily confused by the reaction but shrugs it aside as his gaze never falters, never wavers from the children actively playing in the yard.


	3. The Line Between

**PART 3: The Line Between**

She had said Arizona. Did that mean Dean was now in Arizona or was he following a foolish lead that would take him no where? 

Debating about his next course of action, he settled on driving towards the southern state hoping that maybe just once luck would be on his side. As the sun began to set on the horizon he decided he should probably stop and take a nap. After getting a hotel room and grabbing his duffle bag from the trunk he walked into the room suddenly crumpling as his head began to pound. Drawing in a hissing breath he forced himself to stand grappling haphazardly for something, anything that would help him regain his balance. The pain began to ebb and he felt able to breathe again, but the relief was only short-lived as another crippling wave of pain struck slicing deeply into his skull projecting an image of a dirt-covered floor and the eerie sounds of incessant whispering off in the distance. 

Shaking his head he tried to clear his mind of the image, confused and afraid of what it might mean. When he opened his eyes it was only to see pitch blackness before him and nothing else. He nearly panicked again reaching for something, anything that would stay him. His hand struck something hard and he automatically lowered over it waiting out the pain, panting as it began to subside. As it abated he forced his eyes open again relieved to see the faint outlines of a table and chair in the fading light before him. He could see. He wasn’t blind. Thank God he wasn’t blind…but someone was, and he couldn’t help but feel that someone was his very own brother. 

Reaching for the lamp on the table he shook his head again unable to ignore the memories of the dirt floor, the pitch blackness and the unsettling whispers he had heard while experiencing his most recent vision. He hadn’t had them in so very long that he had almost forgotten what one felt like. He was afraid of what the sudden return of them could possibly mean. His visions were back but this time they were apparently connecting him to his very own brother, or so he hoped. If not then just who the hell was he tuned into _this_ time? 

Shrugging quickly out of his coat he decided to head for the shower halting when his phone began to ring. He picked up immediately beginning to say Dean’s name before catching himself and saying hello instead. Bobby was on the other end asking where the hell he was and where the hell he had been. He had been trying to call him all evening. 

“I must have had my phone turned off. Sorry Bobby. I’m in Utah.” 

“UTAH? What the hell are you doing in Utah, boy?” 

“Following a lead…” 

“The bar, they saw him?” 

“Have his cell phone right here, Bobby. One of the waitresses said he came in a few weeks ago, battered and nervous, acting like he was trying to get away from something. She saw him in the parking lot speaking with a group of men. He disappeared again shortly after that. The only thing left behind was his cell phone lying on the ground where she’d seen him standing moments before.” 

“Damn! She tell you anything else?” 

“Arizona, she said the vehicle they were standing in front of had Arizona plates…” 

“So you hopped in the Impala dead set on driving to Arizona with nothing more to go on then a waitress seeing a supposed Arizona license plate! Sam, I hate to tell you this but that’s a piss poor lead.” 

“Aren’t they all, Bobby?” 

“Well yeah but…” 

“That’s not all I…I had another of those visions.” 

“Thought they stopped?” 

“They had. I haven’t had any since before Dean… I haven’t had any in months then tonight I get hit with one.” 

“Well’d you see anybody, anything?” 

“I think I saw Dean.” 

“WHAT?” 

“Or rather where he’s being kept… I saw a dirt floor Bobby, heard some freaky whispers and then…blackness.” 

“What the hell kind of a vision is that? How’s that supposed to be a vision of Dean?” 

“I don’t know but it felt like…I don’t know Bobby, like he was there, his presence you know and well… I don’t know.” 

“So you’re headed to Arizona with no leads hoping that a damned vision’ll give you what you want?” 

“No Bobby, in fact, I’m beginning to suspect that Dean’s not in Arizona either.” 

“Then why’re you heading there, Sam?” 

“He might have been, but he might’ve been moved again.” 

“Moved again? Sam you’re getting all hopeful when there’s…” 

“The place was _cold_ Bobby, cold and damp, dark, dreary…that’s not Arizona.” 

“Back to your vision being a connection to your brother?” 

“Well, why else would I be having them again after so long?” 

“I don’t know, Sam, but you know where those visions came from, where that ability came from. I wouldn’t trust it. It could be bad news, and you’re no good to Dean if something happens to you.” 

“I know, Bobby, I know and I’ll be careful.” 

“You’ll be dead!” 

“Bobby, I’m fine. I’m driving to Arizona tomorrow, see if I can’t find anything on Dean there and then…” 

“And then…?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just keep hoping something turns up.” 

“Maybe you should start praying again too, while you’re at it, Sam.” 

“Already started, Bobby, I already started…” 

“Good to know you found your faith again.” 

“Not in angels…” 

Bobby’s voice took on a warning tone as he spoke, “Sam…” 

Tensing Sam reacted to the warning by replying, “Look Castiel should be helping us find Dean. Instead we’ve heard nothing, Bobby, _nothing_. He should have found Dean already and let us know…something.” 

“Sam angels aren’t all knowing, you know. There’s only one who is. They’re warriors, guardians…they do what they can and when they can’t they…” 

“Bail…?” 

“No they do what they can.” 

“Yeah, what’s Castiel doing while Dean’s in trouble? Nothing…” 

“Maybe he’s doing all he can right now, maybe he’s with Dean as we speak, maybe he has a plan. Don’t criticize him when you don’t know everything, Sam, just keep going and when he decides to show his divine ass he will.” 

“Yeah, thanks Bobby, thanks a lot.” 

“Sure. Now you get some sleep. You have a brother to find.” 

Nodding into the phone Sam said goodbye before opting to lie down instead of shower, within moments of his head hitting the pillow he was fast asleep.

* * * *

He could hear her approach, had actually been waiting for her knowing it would only be a matter of time before she visited him again. When she stopped beside him he didn’t react only continued to gaze longingly out the small window that became a comfort to him, only today it wasn’t. 

She glanced out of the window herself softly saying, “No kids today. It’s raining out, Dean. They’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll see.” 

Sadness swirled around him hovering like a dark cloud, the blank expression back, his head lowered towards the floor, fingers lightly brushing the very edge of the window sill. She swallowed hard her pain for him becoming apparent in the tightness of her chest. She had felt she was making progress with him…until now. Now he was back in his shell the sadness mounting in him nearly overwhelming. She forced a smile as she spoke again, “They’ll be back. You’ll see. I promise you they’ll be back, Dean.” 

He lifted his head ever so slightly turning towards her, but did nothing else. She waited hoping to get more of a reaction from him, disappointed when she didn’t. She wanted to reach out to him feeling the overwhelming urge to brush a hand through his hair, to guide him to the bed and urge him to seek much needed rest. Instead she cleared her throat and quietly asked, “Won’t you please tell me about Sam?” 

The briefest of smiles tinged his lips before he shook his head and retreated into the nearest corner, his arms now drawn protectively across his chest as he lowered his head and slid to the floor. 

As tears pierced her eyes she quickly dashed them away before approaching him and lowering before him. She tugged at his left arm wanting to hold his hand in hers, but when he refused to budge she chose to place her own hand on his left leg offering him what little she could in the way of comfort. Her reaction drew more movement from him as he settled further into the corner, lifting his head as he offered her a despairing look, his eyes brimming as he fought to maintain control over his now floundering emotions. She softened her voice as she said, “It’s not your fault, Dean.” 

Jerking his head up, he stared at her in shock before nodding his head then drawing further back from her. She swallowed hard forcing herself to draw in a calming breath before stating, “You blame yourself though. Don’t you?” 

He tightly squeezed his eyes shut hearing the sharp demand of _“Where is he, Dean?”_ echoing in his mind. Tensing he began to draw in haggard breaths as he re-experienced the physical blow that proceeded the question. He cowered now covering his face as the next statement seared his mind, _“Tell me where he is, boy!”_

“No, no, no…” he whispered so softly, so quietly his words were barely audible but Eleanor heard the slightest noise escaping Dean’s now parted lips, whispers so quiet she had sworn she was only imagining them. As Dean released a tense whimper she immediately called his name aware that he was experiencing a flashback, one that from the looks of it was causing him quite a bit of anguish. She had to get him back, had to draw his attention or she just might lose him. 

Slowly opening his eyes he gazed around him wildly nearly panicking as blackness filled his vision. He tried to see where he was, tried reaching out, grabbing for something, anything but his arms wouldn’t move. It was as if they were presently immobile and the inability to move them nearly pushed him over the edge. He heard voices then, whispers, thousands of whispers crashing down around him confusing him, tormenting him, making him open his mouth to cry out but as he did so he again realized there was no sound. He couldn’t speak and nearly tumbled into an all out panic. 

He kicked out grunting as his foot struck a solid mass, confusing him further as he tried to recall just what in his room would be there. He tried to twist onto his back, hissing in pain as the movement sent momentary dead nerve endings to life. His body beginning to flood with the pins and needles sensation that indicated numb nerves awakening once more. The pain made him groan deep in his throat. 

Managing to turn onto his stomach he jolted violently away from the floor as the overpowering scent of damp earth swamped his senses, burning his nose and triggering a spasm of coughing as he inhaled some of the dust in the small room. As the spasm subsided he heard laughter, ice cold laughter that sent every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. The laughter became loud, piercing into his fog-laden mind, digging at the barriers set in place around him threatening to pull away a veil he feared being removed. He tried to fight struggling to cover his ears as the laughter grew more sinister ripping and tearing into him threatening to shred him into pieces. As he opened his mouth to release a scream of outright terror he stumbled grunting as he fell back against a solid wall hearing her voice again as she spoke his name. Forcing his eyes to open he began to relax when he saw her there and recognized the room he was in. He was back and he was safe, for the moment he was _safe_.


	4. Drifting

**PART 4: Drifting**

As he gazed out the driver’s side window of the Impala he caught sight of a sign that brightly stated “Welcome to Arizona.” As he crossed into the state his mind was already throwing doubts at him, mocking him. He had driven here hoping that a pitiful lead would possibly shed more light on where Dean now was. He had to find him and was willing to drive to the ends of the earth to succeed, but he had no idea where to even begin. One lead placed him two steps ahead, while another pushed him two steps back. Any time he felt he was getting close to finding _something_ it was quickly squelched as the lead turned out to be yet another in what now seemed to be countless dead-ends. He was beginning to think the search was pointless, that Dean was lost to him.

He knew that he was doing a very poor job at tracking him, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He would never give up. He would keep on going until the day he died searching for Dean, tracking down every possible lead he found no matter how minuscule. He had to do _something_ or risk losing himself to despair. He had lost Dean once, and he was going to make damned sure it didn’t happen again.

As he saw a rest stop up ahead he quickly pulled over. He needed to stretch his legs and wanted to hang a missing poster in the building in hopes that maybe someone in Arizona had seen his brother. Stalking towards the building his lanky legs carried him on a direct path inside. Once there he found himself stopping and glancing around. The place wasn’t very active but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least make the attempt to ask someone if they had seen his brother. He highly doubted he’d get anywhere, but it was better than dragging his feet and whining about how futile his search was becoming.

Sighing heavily he used the bathroom before approaching the counter of the one store contained within focusing on the elderly woman standing there and asking, “Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering uh, would it be possible if I… Do you mind if I hang a poster up in here?”

“A poster…of what?”

“Well it’s my brother you see he’s…”

Her hand drew to her mouth as she covered a gasp and sadly questioned, “Is he missing? I’m so sorry.”

Sam lowered his head swallowing past the lump that had momentarily formed in his throat glancing up only when he felt a soft pat on his hand as the woman tried to offer him some form of consolation for his loss. As he focused on her she offered him a gentle smile before saying, “Go ahead, dear.”

“Thank…thank you.”

He turned to do so pausing as he asked, “I don’t suppose you…”

“Let me see his picture.”

Turning back Sam offered her a smile of relief before extending the missing poster towards her. She grasped it in her fingers and read the fine print before gazing at the young man pictured in the center. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she said, “He’s young, handsome too. You sure he didn’t just run off with a pretty girl and…”

“No, ma’me, no he’s in trouble. I know he is. I just need to find him.”

Nodding her head in understanding she handed the picture back saying, “I’m sorry I can’t be of much help. I’ve not seen him, but please feel free to hang a few posters up in here if you’d like…and best of luck to you.”

Gazing at the picture of his brother he felt an ache in his chest and sudden burning at the corners of his eyes. Damn it! He couldn’t do this, not here! Shaking his head he abruptly turned away not wanting her to witness his small display of emotion.

Approaching the bulletin board on the nearest wall he carefully pinned the missing poster of Dean to it. Once done he turned and walked out, head down, heart heavy, determined to continue the search despite the odds that continuously surmounted around him. Dean was out there somewhere and he _would_ find him, he had to find him.

* * * *

The wind shuffles subtly at first stirring, setting things into motion. It blows through the trees creating soft rustling along the way. It gives inanimate objects temporary life picking them up and transporting them somewhere else. It creates sound where there is none and offers a temporary solace from the deafening silence he finds himself constantly buried in. Sometimes in the late hours of the night he can hear it off in the distance. It starts as a soft whistling building as it moves along adding motion to stillness. He finds the sound strangely comforting for it reminds him that he is alive. He loses sight of that fact at times having drawn so used to feeling little beyond the hole torn deep in his heart where his brother should be.

He likes to focus his attention on the soothing sound, but as he does so he finds that his ears pick up other sounds, disconcerting and very disturbing. The new sounds threaten to destroy what little solace and comfort he has found in his otherwise non-existent life. He has no life anymore, having forgone it the moment that Sammy was killed before him in cold blood. He had failed to protect him that night, failed to save his brother and therefore deserved no less than what he was presently experiencing. His life is empty now, meaningless, without purpose. The only true comfort he finds is in the children he likes to watch play off in the distance. They are so free, so innocent, laughing, giggling and enjoying life the way Sammy should have been allowed to. He stripped his brother of that gift, having failed to protect him when he needed it the most. He failed in his duty and because of that his brother had perished.

She speaks to him softly, never raising her voice, always seeking answers, pushing him, trying to make him talk. He refuses, choosing to remain in the darkness he created for himself the loneliness that he feels is just punishment for his failure. She is sad. He can always hear the sadness lining her voice, her sadness is for him. She cries for him when he cannot cry for himself and she offers comfort, remains by his side, always returns even when he refuses to acknowledge her. He has contemplated ways of driving her permanently away but her commitment is strong. She refuses to give up. Why does she refuse to give up on someone who has already given up on himself?

He’ll never understand her or what motivates her to keep trying, to keep attempting to breach the walls he erected so high around him. He refuses to bid her entrance into his inner sanctum. He’s shattered inside, broken, made up of countless shards of glass that threaten to topple and explode apart at any moment. He knows he should fight. He should continue to resist but his mind is tormented, and he is so close to becoming truly lost. Sammy would be angry with him if he knew. If Sam saw him he would shake him violently demanding he fight instead of giving up. Sam would be so disappointed in him and knowing that created more pain within.

Her hand is in his hair, combing gently through it as he lay curled inward upon himself, softly mumbling to himself words that can’t be understood, words that never make it past his lips. Why does she care? Why does she continue to come to him? Why does she try to help him? He’ll never understand her and as she asks a question he feels as if she’s ripping out the remains of his heart as she dares to pry at things that are no concern of hers, “Tell me about your brother, Dean. Tell me about Sam.”

NO! Why can’t she understand the last thing he wants to talk about is Sam? She has no business prying into his life, but still each day she digs a little deeper, pushing a little harder asking that same question over and over again: _Tell me about Sam. Tell me about your brother._

Perhaps she knows that he needs him, that without him he feels lost. He doesn’t know how long he can keep on fighting when there’s nothing left to fight for. Why should the battle continue, why should he continue to fight when there’s nothing left for him, of him? Why?

_Please, Dean, tell me about Sam…_

He opens his mouth finding that he wants to tell her, wants to share a little piece of himself with her but he can’t. It hurts too much, the pain is too overwhelming, the wound too large to heal. Closing his mouth he shakes his head and offers his back to her. He hears her sigh behind him expecting her to leave, but she remains steadfast and stubborn as ever.

* * * *

As he pulled into another convenience store in an endless line of convenience stores he drew out the stack of missing posters and entered. Like all the others the store was small containing anything from snacks to windshield wiper fluid. One wall was lined with magazines, another with postcards. Shaking his head he approached the refrigeration unit at the back of the store and automatically drew out two bottles of water and soda before making his way to the counter. Once to the counter he noticed that it contained several small boxes each piled full of various colorfully decorated items with the word “Arizona” printed on them. Cheap souvenirs placed there for the sole purpose of luring tourists to spend a few extra dollars while there. Shaking his head he reached for the stand of chewing gum and automatically grabbed two packs before selecting two candy bars to add to the mix. As the cashier began to ring up his items he placed the flyers on the counter before drawing out his wallet and handing over the money. As the cashier began to place his items in a bag she asked, “He been missing for a long time?”

Caught off guard Sam stumbled over his reply as he settled his gaze on her face, “Wha…what?”

She gestured towards the flyers he had temporarily placed on the counter repeating, “He been missing for a long time?”

Breaking eye contact with her he mumbled, “Yeah, yeah he has.”

“He’s cute. He your brother or something…?”

“Yeah, why…?”

“Just curious…”

Glancing up he leveled a puzzling gaze at her before mumbling, “Oh.”

She tore his receipt off before tucking it into his bag and saying, “People go missing a lot down here. No one knows where. Most think it just happens being a desert and all, it’s kind of unexpected, you know.”

Now confused he responded, “Um no I don’t know.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so… You sure he’s here?”

Without thought he blurted, “I’m following a lead.”

Nodding she continued, “He looks familiar to me but…”

His gaze jerked upwards as he pinned her with a hopeful look that made her regret her previous statement. Shaking her head she immediately added, “I’m sorry. No, no I didn’t see him.”

His face fell, the deflated look made her swallow hard and she wished she would’ve just kept her damned mouth shut. Without asking she drew one of the flyers off the pile and stared at the image of the young man printed there. She tried to search her mind for when she had sworn she saw someone similar shaking it in frustration when she realized what she was doing. She felt guilty for having given him a little hope with the comment she had voiced earlier and perhaps because of that she was trying to convince herself that the person she had seen weeks ago was this man in the photograph. She couldn’t do that, give a man a false sense of hope when all she had were the smallest inklings that she had possibly seen the man pictured before, so she quickly offered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t help, but I’ll hang his picture up if you’d like.”

Sam was staring at the picture of his brother having felt such hope moments before only to have it dashed as quickly as it had surfaced. Nodding his head he offered a quiet thank you as he scooped up his bag and the remaining flyers pausing to look at her one last time and watching as she approached the wall carefully taping the poster in place. When she turned back he offered her another quiet thank you before shifting the bag in his grip and heading towards the door halting when a dainty hand suddenly gripped his arm. Turning back he gazed at her in surprise and confusion opening his mouth to question what she was doing only to be cut off as she began to speak again, “I saw someone several weeks ago…he was asleep and I… He didn’t look comfortable at all. I was pumping gas for this guy who kind of freaked me out. I kept looking at him though he…his face was marked up. He looked as if he had recently been in a fight or something. I…he… The rest wasn’t peaceful, and I swear I…when I gazed in the window, looked at him closer I swear he…that there was a silver band around his exposed wrist…not…not a bracelet, no it was…it looked like a… I was going to call the police, but I figured it was none of my business and that I was seeing things so I…didn’t. He…he didn’t awake while they were here.”

“They…?”

“Yeah there was a group of them made me feel really uncomfortable. I was working alone that day, single female at an out of the way pit stop along a desolate highway in Arizona isn’t exactly the best to be when there are a group of men who… I didn’t ask, didn’t react. The driver he stared at me though. When he saw me looking at the young man he…his eyes went cold. He… It was probably nothing but…”

“This man, the one who was sleeping in the vehicle how close of a look did you get at him?”

“I didn’t look too long the driver he… Why?”

“Did you happen to notice if he had any jewelry on or…”

Lowering her gaze she squinted as if trying to recall the details of the man she had seen before nodding. Sam could feel a resurgence of hope as he forced himself to ask, “What did it look like?”

“What? The necklace…he had a necklace looked like a golden skull, an amulet of some kind. I thought it was…odd.”

“And the vehicle, do you remember…?”

“It was one of those ugly SUV’s, the Mark III’s or whatever, I don’t know didn’t study it too thoroughly I just…I wanted to get away quickly so…”

“What color was the vehicle? Do you remember the color?”

“Yeah it was black, Arizona license plate, why?”

Gazing at him she watched a tirade of emotions fluttering across his facial features and swallowed hard before saying, “You think it was him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know but…”

“No, look I don’t want to get your hopes up. I just…when you started leaving I had to…I just felt you should know. I didn’t mean to get you all worked up about it. I…I’m sorry. I should never have told you…”

“No, no. You don’t understand. It matches.”

“What matches?”

“The vehicle I’m tracking…it’s a black van and… But why wouldn’t they ditch it? Why hold onto it if…”

The ringing of his phone pierced the store and he quickly fumbled for it nearly dropping the missing papers in the process. Juggling them to the arm holding the bag he answered, “Yeah…?”

“Sam?”

“Bobby?”

“Where are you?”

“A store near Phoenix…”

“Phoenix? So you did drive to Arizona?”

“Told you I was planning on it…”

“It’s probably a useless trip…”

“Bobby, I think I found something. I think he was here.”

“Now hold on a minute it wasn’t that long ago that you were swearing he wasn’t there, that he couldn’t possibly be there…"

“Yeah but now I’m thinking he was.”

“Well, where the hell would they be taking him then? Why the hell even drive into Arizona if you’re holding someone…?”

“I don’t know, Bobby, but I think they did.”

“Right and drove where?”

Sam glanced up as the door dinged and noticed the girl was still before him staring at him. He had forgotten she was there. Shaking his head he asked, “Did you see which direction they were heading by chance?”

“The Interstate towards New Mexico…”

Bobby having heard the question posed and the girl’s answer inflected, “New Mexico? What the…”

“I don’t know, Bobby. I don’t know…maybe they’re taking him east. I don’t know.”

“East…? Sam, you’re getting your hopes up again when you don’t even know for certain what the hell’s even going on. Don’t tell me you’re planning on heading…”

“To New Mexico…? I’m thinking about it.”

“Sam, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean…”

“Bobby he’s out there and we have no leads. He’s been missing for far too long. I want him back, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up the search.”

“And no one is asking you too, son. I just don’t want you jumping to conclusions and assuming that every possible, dare I say lead, means anything. You’re trying to find one man in a world full of people. You’re setting yourself up for an impossible task and I don’t want you to... I don’t want to lose you too just…be careful, Sam, and trust your instincts.”

“Well I’m trusting them now Bobby, and my instincts are saying I need to go to New Mexico.”

“But Sam…”

“She hung up his missing poster, and I’ve been leaving them everywhere I checked. I need you to be ready if you get a call, okay?”

“Sam…”

“Okay Bobby?”

“Yeah… You two boys are going to drive me to an early grave.”

“Thanks Bobby. Thank you.”

“Sure. You be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Disconnecting the line he returned his attention to the girl again thanking her for her help before heading back to the Impala wondering if her lead was an actual lead or if he was just grasping at straws in a desperate attempt to locate his missing brother. He hoped he was on the right trail if he wasn’t…

Shaking his head he lowered into the driver’s seat, closing the door before drawing out a drink and cursing when he realized he had automatically grabbed _two_ of everything. Damn it! He was still grabbing things for Dean as well and when his gaze settled on the empty passenger seat he felt his heart cinch tighter in his chest as the impact of Dean’s absence stuck him yet again.


	5. Smoke and Mirrors

**Part 5: Smoke and Mirrors**

Dreams are often bathed in mist and fog. They bridge the gap between what is real and what is imagined. They shift and twirl, converging, sometimes making sense while other times making none at all. Some are displayed in bright hues, an abundance of color and light, while others are shaded in blacks and whites. Sometimes they play like a video one scene after another in some assemblage of order while other times they become random segments of events, motion and sound. He dreams in color, vivid hues of reds and blues, greens and yellows. He dreams of darkness and fear. He dreams of pain and confusion. His dreams are filled with unpleasantness, the dreams of nightmares, but sometimes he has nice dreams. Peaceful, happy ones that revolve around his family and the people he has met along the way. Those dreams are the ones that feel unreal to him, as if they are simply wishes playing out that will never be fulfilled. They’re pleasant dreams that leave him feeling warm inside, but when awareness returns those dreams shatter and reality sinks in…

Jerking upright he opened his eyes his mouth going dry as he prepared to scream immediately stifling any and all forms of protest. He swallowed hard swearing that he had been falling rapidly, tumbling on a sickly downward spiral, plummeting into Stygian darkness. His heart was racing in his chest, pounding as if to escape, his breath coming in pants as sweat beads coated his skin. Drawing his hand to his chest he closed his eyes focusing on regaining control of himself and relaxing as he began to succeed. Once he felt calm and collected he opened his eyes again glancing about anxiously trying to recall where he was.

He scanned the walls noticing the grayish color of them. It was an ordinary room with four walls, a ceiling and a floor, but it didn’t feel right. Was he still dreaming? Shaking his head he scanned the room once more, it was quiet, too quiet for where he was at. The oddness created unease within as he tried to make sense of it all. He listened for the familiar sounds of people talking outside of his door, phones ringing off in the distance, footsteps amplified down halls echoing back to him and breaching the privacy the door to his room allotted. He heard none of those sounds. Everything was too quiet, too still…something was wrong.

_Dean…_

Twisting around his heart in his throat he trained his gaze on the place he swore he had just heard his name being called from. When he saw no one there he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. Had he imagined that voice?

Shaking his head he tensed as a soft giggle floated towards him and turned rapidly towards the direction of the new sound relaxing the moment he saw the window. Lowering his head he drew in a calming breath certain the noise he had thought he had heard moments before was simply the giggling of kids playing outside his window. Relieved he carefully stood up feeling the soft material of his hiked up pajama pants brush against bare skin as the material slid back into place. The floor beneath his feet was cold but he paid it no mind as he made his way carefully to the window stopping halfway between it and his bed as a sense of warning nagged at the back of his mind. Something was wrong he was sure of it, but what?

Dismissing the errant questions running through his mind he began to move forward again pausing as he caught the faintest glint of sun reflecting off the window. His next step had that glint growing and revealing a roughened edge. The glass in the lower pane had been broken but how? When?

Cocking his head to the left his brow now furrowed he tried to figure out when and how it had happened wondering why he hadn’t noticed it before. Shrugging his shoulders he continued on his trek drawing to a halt before the window and reaching out to press his hand firmly against the cold glass smiling as his eyes settled on the playground off in the distance. He watched as a little boy ran over to the swings his father following closely behind and sadness filled him. The man could have been his father had their mother not died in that fire all those years ago. Instead he had become bitter, distant and aloof, a tyrant that made him feel nervous and afraid instead of safe and loved.

As those feelings filtered in he turned away from the window unable to watch. After several more moments he turned back and released a soft cry of shock that had him yanking his hand away his eyes opening wide as they took in the dirt smudged window, the rotting panes, the cracked and broken glass exposing beneath it twisted wire mesh now rusted with age. What the hell?

Licking his lips he could only stare at the window unable to make sense of what he was seeing certain now that he was indeed dreaming. Assured that he was he extended his hand and drew his fingertips across the glass feeling the rough texture and frowning when his fingers brushed across hair like fibers that stuck to him, spider webs.

Turning away from the window he gazed at his surroundings and felt his stomach knot as he took in the small confining room with harsh stone walls and a floor made up of…

“Dean?”

Tensing he turned towards the door relieved to see the nurse entering his room. He opened his mouth to speak caught off guard as she quickly approached him and placed her hands on either side of him concern and worry painted across her youthful face. She was speaking to him now but he couldn’t understand her as his head began to pound. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to concentrate hearing her asking him what was wrong and aware that he was being shifted back towards his bed. As he lowered onto it he opened his eyes again to see she was urging him to lie down. Complying he settled onto his right side aware that she was speaking in hushed tones and nodding in response to her rapid questions: was he all right, did his head hurt, was he tired, did he want to sleep? On and on the questions went until sleep drew him under again and as darkness settled around him his dreams began to change…

* * * *

The road stretched ahead of him for endless miles, scenery flashing past him in a transfusion of colors, the afternoon heat filtering in through the open window as he shifted again in his seat. There was nothing out here except miles of desert, desolate highway and the occasional small cluster of buildings that barely qualified as a town. As he drove onward he was certain that he had never felt more alone in his life.

The rest stops out here were sparse, far and few between, and every hundred or so miles a small concrete building could be seen jutting up from the harsh desert floor displaying a crude wooden sign with black letters painted on it boldly stating: “last gas for the next hundred miles”. He had stopped at every single one of them, but no one had seen Dean or a black van. They all told him they’d know Dean if they saw him and would then promise to call if he appeared but that was all they could offer, empty promises that would never be filled.

He sighed, the soft sound oddly loud in the small confines of the Impala again reminding him of how truly alone he was. Rubbing at his eyes he pulled off to the side of the road leaving the car idling as he drew out his map and again studied it. After several moments of staring at the multiple lines and symbols scattered across the surface of it he tossed the map onto the passenger seat his eyes falling to Dean’s cell phone resting there. He stared at it for several moments before picking it up, drawing a small comfort from the feel of its familiar weight in his hand. Without thought his finger brushed over the power button depressing it and bringing the phone to life. He gazed at the small display screen before turning it off again and tossing it on top of the map his heart heavy in his chest.

He then leaned his head back against the seat focusing on the distant horizon and the road that weaved and twisted out before him like a long black snake sunning itself in the hot desert sun. Closing his eyes he squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and pointer finger wondering what his next move should be and snapping his eyes open as a thought came to him. Automatically drawing out his own phone he dialed Bobby’s number smiling when the older man’s gruff voice came over the line, “Yeah?”

“Hey just thought of something…”

“Where you at?”

Ignoring the pointed question Sam continued, “Do you have access to weather reports?”

“Weather reports…” came the quizzical reply.

“Yeah… When Dean and I were searching for the yellow-eyed demon dad told us he discovered a pattern of freak storms, cattle mutilations, stuff like that occurring sometimes weeks before its arrival…”

“What are you gettin’ at, boy?”

“Visions, my visions occurred most frequently when he…”

“Dean killed the son of bitch.”

“Yeah I know but…”

“But…? Sam, you’re grabbing at straws again.”

Irritated now Sam snapped, “Do you have a better idea, Bobby? I’ve been on the road for weeks now trying to track down Dean. Every time I think I find something I… Look, I know this is a long shot but…well, at least I…I’m doing something, you know.”

A soft sigh came to him across the phone line before Bobby spoke again, “You haven’t found anything else have you, Sam?”

Lowering his head Sam admitted, “No. No one’s seen him or a black van. I’ve driven half way across New Mexico and I haven’t found anything. It’s almost like he…he just dropped off the grid. I have no more leads, Bobby. I have nothing, and Dean is _still_ out there.”

“Okay, Sam, I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks, Bobby. Thank you…for everything.”

“So what’s your next move?”

“Continue to stop at all the gas stations, rest stops, hell even convenience stores I can find between here and…”

“Sam that could take weeks…”

“What other option do I have, Bobby? I have no leads, and other than that freak vision I had in Utah I’ve had nothing. No more visions, no more clues…I’m out of options here Bobby.”

“Sam, we’re doing everything we can. We’ll find him. You just have to believe that.”

“Yeah I know it’s just…”

“I know, son. I know.”

Running a hand back through his hair he continued, “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Will do… You be careful now.”

Sam nodded and ended the call. Wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead he turned to gaze out the window his mind fumbling over what to do next. Sighing loudly he grabbed for the open bottle of water and took a deep swig before putting it down and glancing behind him. Noticing that the highway he’d been on was still empty he shook his head before pulling the Impala back onto it continuing his trek east in hopes that he would soon stumble onto something that would help him track down his brother.


	6. Drawing Back the Curtain

**Part 6: Drawing Back the Curtain**

Sometimes he would begin to lose his grip sliding ever so slowly trying desperately to hold on. His hands would find a ledge or a small foothold and he’d grip it tightly until his knuckles would turn white, bloodless. He’d keep his eyes shut tightly when the strain would become all too much softly groaning when his fingers would start to let loose. One by one they’d slip on the cool damp rock face. It was then that he would open his eyes and dare to look down knowing that when his eyes took in the empty chasm far below him it would create a resurgence of energy, of the need to keep on fighting. He’d force his vision away casting his eyes above him to see how far he had fallen.

When another finger slipped he gasped as he felt the momentum pulling him mercilessly down. Feeling the strain in the other three over-stretched, over-taxed fingers he knew it would only be a matter of time, so he attempted to reach up with his dangling arm but in his efforts to do so he would feel another finger slip.

The pull in his arm became too much and he soon began falling downward again searching with fingers and feet for another precious hold or ledge that would stop his descent and nearly panicking until he came to another abrupt halt. His body would lurch back and forth, dangling, suspended by one precious hold that would only momentarily support him, but for the moment it was enough. Closing his eyes in relief he pressed his forehead into the cold rock face and he pictured Sam…

* * * *

Pulling out a map of the United States Bobby looked at it and did as Sam asked searching through weather reports for any indication, any sign that might point the way to Dean. He had done so before, though he doubted Sam even knew about it since it was him who had gone missing that time, and like before he found nothing. Everything was quiet, too quiet. Something was beginning to stir and like before the Winchesters were smack dab in the middle of it all. Shaking his head he picked up the phone and called knowing that his news would upset the youngest Winchester but seeing no other way around it.

“‘lo…?” came a soft slurred reply that had him worrying.

“Sam?”

“Yeah…?”

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No asleep, I was asleep. Did you find anything, Bobby?”

He sighed heavily knowing it carried across the wires when it met with dead silence on the other end. After several moments Sam broke it with, “Nothing at all?”

“No, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Damn.”

Silence fell again and Bobby listened to the shaky breathing of the young man on the other end. Opening his mouth to speak again Sam cut him off with a soft desperate whisper of, “What do I do now, Bobby?” that nearly broke his heart. Damn it! Why did those boys always have to meet with such bad luck all the time?

Shaking his head he spoke softer saying, “Have you found any more leads, anything?”

“No, nothing Bobby and I… I have to find him. I can’t… I just _have to_ , you know.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Ellen have anything?”

“She’s been contacting people she knows asking if they’ve heard anything…”

“But...? I sense a ‘but’ coming…”

“They’re hunters, Sam, and they’re scared, untrustworthy. They have no idea what’s going on and are too busy trying to figure it all out to care.”

“What about…”

“Exorcisms are at an all time low, which isn’t right seeing as the gate was opened but… No one’s talking, not even the demons.”

He could hear Sam swallowing hard on the other end making him reflexively grip the phone tighter as he asked, “What is it, Sam? What’re you thinking?”

“Lilith what if she…”

Lowering his head he responded, “It’s a possibility, Sam. I’m not going to lie to you about it.”

“Do you really think…?”

“He’s a threat to her, you both are. Truth is I’m surprised she hasn’t struck yet.”

Sighing in frustration Sam replied, “That’s because she’s been winning Bobby. We’ve lost several seals already and the angels are losing.”

“Maybe…”

“We’re being massacred Bobby. We’re losing.”

“No I think we’re just getting started.”

“Bobby…”

Hearing the doubt lining Sam’s voice he chose his next words carefully, “Sam they saved him for a reason, and it sure as hell wasn’t to lose.”

“And now he’s missing…”

“Yeah… Have you heard from your angel friend?”

Tension lined Sam’s next response as he firmly stated, “He’s not my friend and no.”

“Sam…”

Silence fell again almost deafening in its intensity before his heart broke further as Sam quietly confessed, “Bobby, I don’t know what to do. I’m out of options.”

“Sam, you can’t give up…”

“And I’m not but where do I go from here?”

He wished he knew or at least could say something that would ease Sam’s mind. Unfortunately all he could come up with was, “Something will turn up. You’ll see.”

“Have you had any calls?”

“No.”

“Bobby…”

“Get some rest, Sam, you sound tired.”

“Yeah…”

“And Sam…?”

“Yeah Bobby…?”

“Don’t quit on him, you hear. Dean’s out there, he’s a stubborn bastard. He’ll get out of this. You both will, so hang in there for Dean’s sake…and for yours.”

“Thanks Bobby.”

The call ended and Bobby could just envision Sam sitting in the dark hotel room listening to the ring tone for several moments before ending the call and lying back down, only this time he knew that sleep would be evasive for the young man as his worry for his brother increased.

Shaking his head in frustration he again gazed at the US map now spread out on his dining room table silently demanding, _“Where the hell are you, boy,”_ and sighing when he knew his question would go unanswered.

* * * *

She quietly observed him from the doorway aware that he was losing the battle, the loss of his brother was nearly too much for him to bear. She had spent countless hours and days watching him, checking on him, visiting him, seeing just how much the loss affected him. He never smiled except when he saw kids other than that he’d stare blankly for hours. The times she was able to reach him were far and few between. She had to try to reach him now before he became completely lost to her, and the only way she could do that was to help him lift the veil that had deliberately been placed over his eyes.

Drawing in a calming breath she slowly approached before settling beside him. He again sat at the window, hands resting in his lap, head bowed and sadness filtering in, his face in profile as night began to fall. Shifting, she softly said his name but he didn’t react. Reaching out she placed a gentle hand to his shoulder struggling for the words she would need to get through to him. Searching her mind she settled for, “Dean, we need to talk…about your brother Sam.”

He remained still, silent, and she frowned fearing that she might have already lost him, that she might not be able to reach him after all, but then he shifted his head turning it slightly towards her as if waiting.

Relieved to see she had his attention she softened her voice continuing, “We’ve never talked much of Sam. I know you love him very much.”

He still wouldn’t speak, but she watched him lower his head further, his eyes closing briefly, the hands in his lap now curled inward into fists. Swallowing hard she quietly stated, “You blame yourself…”

The fists tightened and his jaw clenched. Lowering her own head she assured, “Dean, you’re not to blame. You did nothing wrong. If you blame yourself then they win. You’ll give them what they want.”

His head drew up then and turned to face her, his piercing eyes settling on hers full of questions and a hint of anger. Drawing in a calming breath she gentled her voice as she stated the obvious, “You have questions…and I think it’s time that I tried to answer some of them for you.”

His eyes grew slightly darker, stormy, more suspicious, before he nodded.

She lowered her gaze further continuing, “It was necessary to save you, to keep you from falling.”

He cocked his head to the left and she further explained, “You’ve been here for some time, Dean, and in all that time you have said nothing. You sit here and stare. You watch and you listen. You try to replay in your mind all the possible ways you could have saved your brother and what life would be like with him now and… The memories you have of Sam he is a boy in them, isn’t he? No more than seven?”

Glowering at her now he offered a curt nod prompting her to continue, “They aren’t the only ones you have, are they Dean?”

He didn’t react so she continued, “Intermixed with those… _memories_ are others of Sam and of you working, fighting side by side both of you adults. You believe them to be dreams, wishful thinking. What you don’t realize Dean is that they are the _TRUE_ memories while those of a seven year old Sam being…murdered by your father are all false.”

Dean focused intently on her, glaring at her while at the same time pinning her with a look full of confusion, fear and doubt. She attempted to smile but it did little for either of them. His eyes were alight with turmoil, a dozen emotions flashing across dark irises as he took in the words she had said and what they might possibly mean.

Relaxing slightly Eleanor reached up and cupped Dean’s cheek in her hand turning his head so he was looking completely at her then continued, “Dean, what if your brother isn’t dead? What if someone wants to…?”

Shaking his head violently he drew away from her and cast a gaze out the window staring into endless blackness, shuddering before turning back towards her. She quieted her voice before adding, “What if you’re being deliberately misled?”

His head snapped up as she continued, “There are only a few things that can create such confusion that one might believe things that hadn’t happened…”

He shook his head again denying her words, prompting her to ask another question, “Dean, do you remember how you got here?”

He began to nod in answer but halted as he searched for the accompanying memory and found nothing but blankness. Swallowing hard he drew a hand to his chest as an uncomfortable pressure settled in and tried to remember. When his attempts were met with little success Dean lowered his gaze and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. As he focused more on the shrouded memories he recalled a bar, some bar in some place cold. He tried to draw the memory to the surface, but it refused to appear. All he could remember was that he had been… _somewhere_ and that he had managed to…to escape? 

_Escape?_ What? No, that didn’t make any sense. He was in a hospital. Escape implied being held prisoner and…

Shaking his head he tried to eradicate the memory fearing the implications behind it and tensing as one thought solidified in his mind: if he had escaped once he could do it again.

Escaped, if he _had escaped_ …what? What the hell was going on?

Squeezing his eyes tighter shut he tried to dredge up the memory once more releasing a soft guttural groan as he remembered pain, fever, confusion, an inability to draw in a simple breath as a voice whispered in his ear, soft, bitter, full of rage and mockery: _the pain should start in a few minutes, Dean, and once it does there’s no stopping it…_

The cruel laughter filled his mind and he twisted against it trying to block it out, trying to bury the memory once again and tensing as he felt a touch to his cheek. Snapping his eyes open he glanced around momentarily terrified relaxing only when his gaze settled on the woman. Upon seeing her he began to instantly relax and the memories that had been moments before trying to surface slipped away, fading into silence, but he now suspected that things might not be exactly as they seemed, which meant that Sam might still be alive and if that were the case it could only mean one thing: someone was fucking with his head.

As reality came crashing in Dean jerked awake a scream on the tip of his tongue as the hospital room rapidly dissolved to be replaced by inky darkness and overwhelming pain slammed into him. He gasped, panting harshly, desperately trying to draw in one ragged breath then another dirt and stale air burning, searing into his lungs making it harder to breathe, and triggering an uncomfortable fit of coughing within. As the coldness of the room filtered in next he instinctively curled inward on himself.

As full awareness filtered in disjointed and ambiguous, muffled by disorienting pain and darkness he tried to focus on his surroundings. Hearing a sudden screech rent the air he was only able to scream as a vicious hand unexpectedly latched into his hair and yanked. His back bowed painfully as he was wrenched off the floor pain eliciting across his every nerve and stealing his breath as he tried to fight against the dizzying blackness that accompanied the sudden unexpected shift in position. As his mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening warm breath ghosted his ear as his tormentor chuckled softly before snarling in a cold sinister whisper, “Oh, Dean, you’re going to wish you _never_ woke up.”


	7. When the Veil Lifts

**Part 7: When the Veil Lifts**

_It had been a simple plan: find him, track him, capture him and contain him. It had been so easy, almost too easy. They had let their guard down. Both of them too distracted, too blinded by the surmounting tension between them to see what was happening right in front of them. They were fools and because of that he had been an easy target. The tension between them had escalated throughout the past few months offering him the in that he would need to accomplish his goals and complete his mission. The plan was perfect, revenge within his grasp, and he intended to reap the sweet rewards of it. Things were about to change. The playing field was now officially altered, and Dean Winchester finally belonged to **them**._

He wondered when the line broke apart. When had he lost himself? If he were to hazard a guess he’d say when Sam left. His one job in life, his soul purpose was, had always been, to watch Sammy, to keep him safe, shield him and protect him, to keep him out of harm’s way. When that had failed he had failed himself, for upon losing Sam he had also lost himself. He shattered completely, splintering into a thousand tiny fragments, or so he thought. Remnants of Dean Winchester still remained but upon the loss of his brother he had lost the one thing that had kept him together, the one person who kept those random shards whole, shielded and safe. Now? Now he had to find his way back, but the task seemed so big, so huge that he wasn’t sure if he even could.

_“Oh, Dean, you’re going to wish you **never** woke up.”_

As those words entered his ears and settled in his mind they were like a slap in the face that brought him back to himself so damned fast it made his head spin. Their meaning filled him and with that came reality. It filtered in, rushing as if a dam had broken, battering at his insides and tearing into him mercilessly, ripping at him so brutally that he literally shuddered under the onslaught gasping as if he hadn’t breathed on his own in a very long time. It was dizzying, a whirlwind that brought with it confusion and chaos until it settled and calmed drawing him into the stark cold reality of his present existence. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut his mind began scrambling to make sense of what was happening and as comprehension dawned instinct kicked in making him physically react as he began to resist the one taunting him. It was second nature to him and as he attempted to draw away from the threatening presence hovering so close he released a soft groan feeling the tension in his body only increase. Within moments he felt the grip in his hair ease and release aware that he was flying rapidly towards the floor. Without conscious thought he tried to break his fall grunting as he impacted and felt sudden biting pain in each wrist informing him of one thing: he was restrained. Shit!

As quickly as that fact solidified it was gone as the loud snapping of fingers drew his complete attention towards the right and in the direction of what he could only assume was the door to wherever he was obviously being held. He had mere moments to react to the unnatural echo of loud feet shuffling across the floor before he drew his legs upwards in preparation for an attack. Twisting onto his side he mentally prepared for their approach, nervousness and uncertainty filtering in as he tried to figure out just what they had planned. Blackness still greeted his vision, so he was left to rely on his hearing and sense of touch to determine what was going on. As they drew closer he waited listening to the echoes of their feet as they drew to a halt before him. It was then that he struck driving his feet into the nearest one and smiling triumphantly as he heard a resulting grunt of pain. Drawing his legs towards his chest again he prepared to lash out at the other man screaming and attempting to cover his eyes as blinding light invaded the darkness causing immense pain in its wake. The light was debilitating having sent eyes that had been kept in the dark for far too long to watering instantly.

As he heard laughter echo around him he became aware that he had released a scream and immediately silenced all sounds of pain finding he desperately was trying to draw away from the source of his present torment. When he again realized his hands were useless he tried burying his eyes awkwardly into his shoulder, tensing gasping as hands seized him on either side drawing him upright and setting deadened limbs back to life again. Hissing he nearly panicked as something was drawn immediately down over his head. He tried to fight drawing in harsh breaths, curling his nose up at the scent of burlap that now flooded his senses aware that they had drawn a hood over his head and unsure as to why.

Within moments he was being physically moved out of the area and down a long corridor that seemed endless. As he attempted to walk, aware that they were dragging him, he stumbled cringing as he felt something hard impacting his toe. The voice of his tormentor breached the silence as he snapped, “Pick up your feet, Dean. I don’t want to risk you falling and breaking your neck.”

Unable to stop the sarcastic reply he snapped, “Oh you’re all heart.”

“Ah he speaks.”

He would’ve snapped again if at that particular moment in time he hadn’t been brutally yanked forward his shin banging painfully against what felt like solid iron. Instead he found himself attempting to breathe as the pain washed over him before settling into a duller, more tolerable ache.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence as he found himself looking down at a floor he couldn’t see while trying to place one foot in front of the other and stay fully upright.

By the time they stopped he was certain they must’ve walked a mile and found himself wondering if they were still in the same place. The scents around him would suggest a yes to that unvoiced question.

Focusing his attention outward he tried to get a sense of where he was. The place he had been in had felt smaller than this room, more confined, less ventilated. The subtle shifts in the air alone made his lungs hurt and his throat tighten up having since grown accustomed to the thickness and staleness of the air where he had just come from. This room however seemed to have better ventilation and was much larger. He found himself lifting his head as if to look upward still seeing blackness and a few remnants of flashing white light pulsing across his vision.

Wondering where he was and why he had been brought here he was unprepared for the sudden pressure on either shoulder as he was shoved less than ceremoniously to his knees gritting his teeth as rough textured stone carved into tender flesh and tensing further as the hood he now wore was abruptly torn away. Feeling disoriented by the sudden shift in position he squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to re-assimilate as the voice that seemed to draw pleasure from tormenting him asked, “Do you know what happens to those who speak without permission, Dean?”

Swallowing hard he tried not to let those icy words bother him opening his mouth to reply only to draw in a shaky breath when he swore he heard the distinct sound of someone telling him, whispering for him not to speak, without realizing it he gruffly remarked, “What the hell?” feeling a sudden coldness settle around him, beside him, caught so off guard by it that when ice cold water splashed in his face he hissed in response attempting to jerk away hearing the sinister hiss of his captor whispering in his ear menacingly, “They get punished,” as his arms fell uselessly to his sides having apparently just been cut free.

Instinctively he drew away from his tormentor biting back the scream he wanted to release at the sudden change in position of his arms and unprepared when he was physically drawn back to his feet before being roughly dragged to the right. As he felt himself being physically shoved into a seated position a kaleidoscope of whispers merged and combined anxious, fearful, breathless chatter nearly deafened him catching him by surprise. When he felt his arms being yanked none too gently to either side of him he nearly panicked as harsh frigid metal was snapped quickly around each vulnerable wrist. Quickly becoming fully aware of his present predicament he was only able to throw his head back and scream when a flood of ice cold water suddenly rained down upon him, stealing his breath in the process.

He fought to regain it becoming aware that he was gasping and sputtering for breath trying to fight against the constant stream of water presently rushing into his mouth and nose. Nearly on the edge of panic he quickly forced his head down coughing violently to expel the bit of water that had found its way inside. Once the coughs subsided he tried to relax unable to do so, becoming aware of just how violently he was shivering. Awareness began to return making him realize that he was actively voicing his suffering. The moment he did he tried to bite back any further indicators nearly biting through his lip as the shower of unrelenting frozen water continued to cover him drenching his body, soaking into his clothes and making him begin to shudder uncontrollably in an attempt to keep warm. He yanked against the restraints on his wrists trying to break free, to move away from the merciless water that kept filtering onto him, shaking his head in an attempt to knock the water away only to find that it was a useless action.

Gritting his teeth he tried to withstand the cold that stripped his body of any amount of heat he had been able to maintain prior to the torture. He had already been cold but now he was damned near frozen. As the water continued to pour onto him he started to pant squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he attempted to wait it out, aware that he was fast losing the battle as splotches of white began to fill his vision blotting out the blackness as his ears began to ring loudly. Lightheadedness began to swamp him threatening to topple him, pushing him head first into unconsciousness but just when he was ready to willingly slip into its embrace the water ceased and he found himself hunching over, hanging heavily forward panting, gasping, drawing in shaky breaths, every inch of his body cold as ice and shivering so violently he no doubt was shaking the chair he was sitting in.

The laughter began then mocking him as he remained sitting before the owner of it chilled to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering loudly, soaked to the bone as he attempted to draw in smooth calming breaths.

When he felt the pat of a warm open hand against his own frigid skin he hissed attempting to pull away as his tormentor repeated his threat from earlier, “I promise you that you’re going to wish you never woke up.”

Feeling anger flaring within in response to the jest he opened his mouth managing to release a harsh croaked, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” in response.

The only reply his tormentor offered in return for his little show of defiance was to harshly snap, “Chain him up by his wrists!”

The men who had dragged him to the room quickly removed the restraints on his wrists causing him to wince as his arms tumbled uselessly into his lap and he nearly fell forward as his momentum shifted. As his shoulder impacted painfully with the ground it was then that he realized he hadn’t remained upright after all but instead fell in a heap before them. The moment he realized he was free he attempted to ball up trying to draw his knees to his chest in hopes of finding some semblance of warmth in the action, but his captor would have none of it as he was physically muscled to his feet and dragged into the center of the room where both of his arms were yanked brutally above his head and locked into a set of manacles dangling from a chain fastened in the ceiling above him. As soon as his “guards” as he decided to label the two goons on either side of him, released their hold his feet went out from under him leaving him hanging by his shackled wrists in the center of the room.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse he felt a sudden pulling on his arms as something off to his right began squealing as if it were a metal crank that hadn’t been used in some time. When the screeching stopped it was then that he realized his feet now dangled beneath him, his toes barely scraping the floor. He knew then that he was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

To add insult to injury his captor chose that moment to chuckle before asking another of his cruel questions, “Do you know what it feels like to be truly alone, Dean?”

As a loud click resounded through the empty interior of the room and the brightness that had been moments before hurting and burning his eyes severely diminished the last thing he heard before the sound of retreating footsteps was his tormentor coldly informing, “I promise you will know.”

Wanting to respond he opened his mouth only to close it again as his teeth began to chatter louder and his body began to shudder more violently jingling the chains he was suspended from as coldness continued to seep deep into his bones.

* * * *

It had been days, weeks since he had heard his brother’s voice, spoke with him, spent time with him… Their last time together hadn’t ended all that well. They had been arguing…again about the same issue: Ruby. Dean had been disappointed in him, angry with the choices he had made, the decisions he had acted upon and had stormed out of the hotel room. He knew where his brother was heading: a local bar to drown out his feelings, to forget he had a heart, a soul, to forget he could feel anything. His only goal was to create a state of comfortable numbness and forget everything. Had it not been for their argument Dean would still be here with him not out there somewhere lost, missing. He had fucked up, exposed his brother to danger and had lost him…

It was his fault that Dean was gone that he had been left vulnerable and exposed… Of course technically he could say it was all Dean’s fault since he was no doubt intoxicated when he was taken, except that Dean would have never been in that bar in the first place had they not argued. And besides he could have at least checked on him to make certain that he was all right before running off in the middle of the night and leaving him like so many other times. He knew what he was doing was wrong. It was all wrong…waiting until the middle of the night until Dean was asleep before leaving him alone only to return just before dawn… Hell, truth be told, he couldn’t even be certain if Dean had been taken from the parking lot or from their own room. It would have been so easy to slip into their room and snatch him right from the bed he was in, but to admit that possibility even existed didn’t bode well with him because if that was truly how it had happened then he was fully to blame for Dean’s disappearance, for if he had been where he was supposed to be then none of this would’ve happened.

He had no doubt failed his brother, drawn into the false belief that he was always being watched over, that Castiel would always be there to help Dean, to protect him. He had convinced himself that Dean was untouchable and that Castiel would ALWAYS be there. He had been wrong. He had been foolish, and Dean was now paying the price.

He had had nothing but good intentions when he chose the path he was now on and that’s what drove him onward. He could do good things with his abilities, defeat the curse bestowed upon him so long ago if he could just control it. He didn’t need angels or demons or even Dean making that choice for him. It was his choice, and he would do right by it…

_“Tell me, if it’s so terrific, why did you lie about it to me? Why did an angel tell me to stop you?”_

Shaking his head he blocked out the memories feeling his anger rearing again and loathing himself for it. Anger was part of the reason there now existed between he and his brother a wedge that was continuously growing and expanding exponentially, creating a rift so huge that he felt as if he were simply going through the motions of life just going along with his older brother while refusing to open up to him or allow him entrance. Dean had gone away. He had left him and despite it all he still couldn’t find it in him to forgive his brother for that and hated that he was jealous, envious even that God had sent an angel to save Dean but didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.

Why did Dean get a second chance? Why did Dean get recognized, noticed by angels but not him? Why did Dean…?

He felt suddenly ill as he realized where his thoughts were headed. Was he…angry that Dean was back? Did he resent his older brother? Did he wish for him to be back…there?

He jerked to his feet and ran into the bathroom making it just in time to violently expel the contents of his stomach into the basin. He heaved until there was nothing left before falling back onto his ass and collapsing leaning against the bathroom wall slowly becoming aware that his face was wet and hating himself further as he admitted that perhaps he had wished that upon Dean, had wished he was…

Shuddering violently he collapsed inward upon himself rocking as he began to whisper a prayer for his brother’s return, a prayer for his brother’s safety, a prayer for Dean…

It was the first time that Sam Winchester had prayed in a very **long** time.


	8. The Silence Lingers

**Part 8: The Silence Lingers**

How does one lose their mind? Is it subtle at first, slow and all encompassing, as it progresses? Or is it so fast that one minute a person is grounded in reality and the next minute that same person has no idea what’s real and what isn’t?

The darkness drives him mad. The silence doesn’t help much either. He hovers between them, dangling, as if centered on a balance beam, on a line, unsure of just which side to step onto, unsure of which way to jump off, certain that soon he will just fall and all will be lost or gained depending on which direction he goes.

He struggles to awake, to find light in the darkness he seems to be firmly rooted in. Each time he gets near it he becomes entangled, ensnared in vines that grow to excess feeding on the doubts and fears that plague him. He knows he’s alive. He knows that he is real, but where exactly he is remains a mystery. He’s certain he’s trapped in some hidden place far from the reaches of others. He’s certain he needs to escape, can feel it in every fiber of his being, but when he manages to grab onto consciousness, to open his eyes his heart lodges in his throat and fear consumes him as he sees a place so different from what he expects.

He remembers being dragged to the room. He remembers the torture. He remembers being secured and left alone, but when he opens his eyes it’s the gray walls of a hospital room he sees. When he attempts to look around he sees a bed and a single window. He feels pressure on his wrists as if they are lashed together but when he draws them before his eyes they are simply pale and bare. No watch hinders them and no bracelet remains where always there was one. When he reaches for his throat he relaxes only slightly when his fingers close around the familiar pendant, the necklace he knows was given to him by his brother, but in his present state this is the ONLY thing that makes sense, that seems _real_ to him.

He’s not crazy. He knows he’s not. He’s certain he isn’t, yet when faced with the clashing realities he flounders, desperately trying to make sense of it all. As the air shifts subtly around him he’s certain he hears a door open and close beyond the boundaries of his mind. He uses that sound to guide him hoping that as he climbs towards it he will find himself rooted in what is his true reality, but as he draws near the voices assail him, muttering, merging together, so very quiet yet so very loud confusing him, making it difficult for him to think clearly. He begins to falter, to wane and in a last attempt to break free he screams one name, but it comes out as a mere plea, a desperate cry from a desperate man hoping, praying that someone will hear him, that someone will save him, that someone will come…

Voices were the first to register in his mind, that and darkness. As awareness continued to settle in he soon realized that he was cold. He tried to recall where he was, what had happened but through the momentary haze of a pounding headache and persistent ringing in his ears he couldn’t, so he settled for focusing, centering on one thing. Picking out the subtle whispers that seemed to fill the air around him he latched on trying and failing to comprehend just who was speaking wondering why they were whispering as if fearful of being heard.

Opening his mouth he managed a croaked, “Sammy…” before lapsing into a cough as his dry throat revolted. Swallowing hard he attempted to hydrate it wondering suddenly why it hurt so much.

Shaking his head he tried opening his eyes, but they felt so very heavy. As a distant voice echoed sharply telling him to wake up he jolted releasing an unintelligible grumble of pain in the process as his body ignited becoming infused with pain, so much so that he would swear he had screamed when all that came out was another muffled cry of anguish.

Blood pounded rushing into his ears as his head seemed to swell and light pulsed across his vision in dizzying circles. He was aware that he was falling again and jumped crying out as he felt sharp metal carve into his wrists, his shoulders quickly protesting the action. The sensation of spiraling out of control resurfaced and he gladly followed. As awareness faded he jolted a second time feeling a vise like grip lock around his forearm, lifting his head slowly he managed to open his eyes briefly before letting them fall shut again tensing as a familiar voice spoke soft, clear into his ear, “No, Dean, you have to wake up.”

He opened his mouth to reply only managing a soft ‘hmmm’ in response, his eyelids fluttering briefly before closing again. A gentle pat was next, an open hand lightly tapped against his cheek followed by a voice being spoken a bit louder this time, firmer. He wanted to respond, he really did, but the effort seemed almost too much for him so sighing softly he lowered his head snapping it up again when he heard the urgent, “No Dean!” that followed. Clearing his throat, licking his lips, he managed a graveled, “Sammy…” again that had the voice responding, “No, Dean, not Sammy. He’s not here.”

“Then who…?” his voice faded on him as he attempted to form a full complete sentence making the question all but drop away.

“Eleanor…” came the voice.

The name sounded odd to him, unfamiliar. He shook his head, or he thought he shook his head, licking his dry cracked lips as he managed, “Ellen, don’t know…”

“No not Ellen. My name is Eleanor. Can you hear me, Dean? Do you understand?”

Her name echoed in his head, her voice so familiar. As it registered he managed, “Nurse…you’re not…”

“Yes.”

“Not real… Sammy, Sammy’s alive he… You’re not real.”

“Yes, Dean, I am and I’m right here with you. Please you have to stay awake.”

“’m awake…”

A frustrated sigh before a soft grumbled, “Barely…” followed that proclamation. It had him attempting a smile as a come back, but instead it came out more as a grimace. The darkness called to him again, and he started to follow tensing as she snapped, “No Dean!”

Becoming frustrated he managed a quiet harsh, “Why?”

“Because you can’t fall asleep, you can’t give in.”

He couldn’t give in to what? His body seemed to relax further and he felt as if he were dropping but only a few scant inches before he settled again. She spoke demanding, “Stand up, Dean, that’s an order, damn it!”

His body reacted automatically to those words prompting him to quickly comply with the command in that voice. As he pushed his feet back under him it was then that he realized they had given out. Shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to clear it he managed another “Why…?” and heard hesitancy in her voice as if she were uncertain of what he was asking. Had he been more aware he probably would have laughed out loud to release some of the unexpected tension he now felt within. He felt anxious and tried in vain to assess himself and his condition becoming aware of what was happening about the same time as she spoke managing, “Shutting down…”

“Yes, Dean. Your body is trying to shut down.”

“Is that…bad?”

He already knew the answer to that question but found himself asking it anyways almost as if he needed reassurance that he was right in his evaluation. Her voice echoed around him as if traveling through a thick haze as she replied, “Yes, Dean. It’s very bad.”

“But…”

“You’re weak, Dean, tired, stressed, in pain… You haven’t had food in several days, water… You’re in need of water.”

Still not completely aware he managed a quiet, “Have some?” that had her answering, “No, Dean. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I can’t give you any.”

“But…”

“You have to listen to me. You have to stay awake. You have to fight for Sam. Please, Dean, you have to fight this.”

“Why do you care?”

Another frustrated sigh followed the inquiry making him frown before asking, “Do you care or… You’re with them…aren’t you?”

“Them?” She asked but already knew who he was referring to. She hesitated with her answer choosing to say, “Tell me about Sam.”

Dean snickered licking his lips before answering, “Smooth, real smooth.”

“Yeah… So about Sam...”

Managing finally to open his eyes he pinned her with a stern look as he simply answered, “No,” before gazing around the room. The surroundings were familiar but he had been certain they were a dream. Managing to focus on Eleanor again he forced out, “This some kinda joke?”

She shook her head smiling softly prompting him to demand, “Then what the hell’s going on?” of course seeing as his throat felt like sand paper the demand came out more as a plea that made him feel disgusted. Licking his lips and swallowing hard he managed to force out, “Said it was…wasn’t real, so how’d I get here? Why…?”

His voice was fading quickly. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could speak so he chose to look at her expectantly ignoring the fact that there seemed to be two or three of her instead of just one. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as dizziness threatened to consume him yet again snapping his eyes open as she responded, “Oh this is very real.”

_“What?”_

“It’s _all_ real, Dean.”

Allowing his eyelids to drift shut once again he muttered, “Or ‘m just crazy.”

“No, no that you most certainly are not.”

“Right…”

“Dean…”

“Sam’s alive. You _told_ me he was.”

“And I didn’t lie about that, Dean.”

“Then this…dream…piss poor one if you ask me.”

Shaking his head he found himself wincing and quickly regretting the move as it sent the pain in his head spiking yet again. Shit if that didn’t fucking hurt! His ears began ringing again much louder than before and he found himself drifting. He knew he had to stay awake, but it was just too much. He tried but quickly lost the fight as his eyes rolled back in his head, his legs slipping out from under him as he fell rapidly forward. His body jarred sickeningly against the crude bindings imprisoning him and Eleanor screamed…

* * * *

The knock at the door startled him, jerking his head up he stared at the closed door trying to figure out who had entered his room and how had they gained access? Of course he already knew the answer to that question and managed a sharp, “Not now Ruby!” in reply.

Her voice came to him through the door questioning, “Sam, Sam are you…?”

Grinding his teeth not wanting to deal with this, with her right now he snapped again, “I said not now!”

“You don’t sound to…”

He was up instantly charging towards the door. Ripping it open he glared at his unwanted visitor and growled, “Not now.”

“Sam…”

“I think you should leave.”

Returning his fierce glare with one of her own she continued, “I tried calling you several times, even waited up for you. You didn’t show.”

His anger climbed another notch making his voice grow harsher as he snarled, “I’ve been busy.”

“I see that.”

“Oh, oh you do? Well then maybe perhaps you could help me…”

“I already am, Sam, I…”

“No I mean to find him, to find Dean. I know you have an idea of where he might be so why don’t you just…”

“No, Sam, I don’t. If I did I’d tell you.”

His eyes grew sharper his anger building, squeezing the door frame under his right hand he hissed, “Would you…tell me, or would you deliberately conceal him from me?”

“Sam, you know I’d help if I could.”

His voice arose an octave as he retorted, “It’s because of you he’s gone!”

Sighing heavily she rolled her eyes as she shifted saying, “So that’s what this is about…”

Jerking abruptly towards her he snapped, “What?”

“Your guilt… You left him alone that night to be with me and because of that he was exposed. Sam I’m sorry. If I had known their plans I would have interfered.”

“ _Their_ plans, just who the hell are you referring to Ruby?”

“Demons, Sam, you know that’s who has him.”

“Where _is he_ , Ruby?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then tell me why do they want him so badly?”

“Because he’s the key…”

“The key…?”

“To ending all this… Come on, Sam, you knew it would only be a matter of time before they made a move on him. Tell me you expected this.”

“No I didn’t, I…”

“Why do you think I’ve been showing up so much lately? Why do you think I’ve been around so much more?”

“Because you…”

“Yes there is that, but I also knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That they would come for him… It was only a matter of time.”

“And you somehow neglected to mention this?”

“Sam, you should’ve known. How could you not know?”

“Because…”

“Because…? That’s all you have to say because? Sam, do you think you’re the only one they want to get their hands on? Come on. He was saved by angels. He was pulled out…that has NEVER happened. It doesn’t happen. There was a reason. Someone very powerful was involved of course they would want him back. If they went through all the trouble to pull him out they’re not going to let him go back.”

“Get out.”

Startled by the response she received she recoiled softening her voice as she said, “Sam, what’s happening to you?”

“Get out! NOW!”

“All right, all right I’m going already.”

“And don’t come back…”

“Sure. No problem.”

Turning she left his hotel room knowing that when he wanted her he’d call her again. Meanwhile, Sam found himself staring at the closed door no closer to finding Dean than he was before and very uncertain of what his next move should be.

It was then his phone rang cursing he answered it shouting, “WHAT?” into the receiver. The response that came back was just as snappy, “Jeez Sam, don’t get your tail in a snit.”

Closing his eyes he sighed replying, “Bobby…” and feeling his body begin to relax. The response back had him grinning slightly, “Damn right, who else would be calling your sorry ass you igit?”

“Bobby it’s good to hear you, man.”

The tone of the voice on the other end changed to one of concern, “Sam is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nah, just my guilty conscience rearing its ugly head…”

“What do you have to feel guilty about Sam?”

“It’s Dean he and I… We had this huge fight…”

“The night he disappeared…?”

“Said some things… It ended badly. He left and I left and… He never came back.”

“What the hell’s been going on between you two Sam?”

He paused debating before sighing again and answering, “We haven’t been exactly seeing eye to eye lately.”

“Sam…”

“I… I…”

“Sam.”

His voice quieted and he dropped his head nervously thrumming his fingers before revealing, “I’ve been taking him for granted, Bobby.”

“What?”

“I…I didn’t appreciate him enough.”

“Sam.”

“No, no. He’s back and I… Instead of cherishing that, being thankful for that, for having him here I’ve been…”

“What, Sam, you’ve been what?”

“Lying to him, ignoring him, keeping him at a distance…pushing him away…and you know what’s worse, Bobby? I demanded he tell me what happened to him while he was away. I would get so angry that he was keeping stuff from me, so I started to do the same thing…a little payback, you know? Well, he did tell me…some of it anyways and now I wish more than anything he would’ve just kept his damned mouth shut. I pushed and I pushed him until he talked and once he did I resented him for it, but it was my damned fault in the first place for pushing him and now it can’t be undone, so instead of supporting him like I should be I’m lying to him and pushing him away.”

“Sam I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but now Dean needs you more than ever. You have always been the one constant in his life, the one who always looked up to him. His reason for living Sam and now…now he’s lost everything, even you. If you two don’t resolve your issues you’re both going to fall apart. Hell, you already are. Frankly you both need to stop being asses and be brothers again.”

“That’s not so easy, Bobby…”

“Well, why the hell not?”

“It just… Things are complicated.”

“Complicated my ass!”

“Bobby…”

A sigh of frustration filled his ear before Bobby continued with an abrupt change of subject, “How’s the search going? Any leads?”

“No.”

“No angel mojo happening…”

“No.”

“Damn.”

Silence fell between them before Sam filled it with a quiet, “I know.”

“Nothing on my end either.”

“So what do we do? I can’t just give up and I have nothing. No leads, no anything.”

“Okay well it might be time we try a different route.”

“What’re you suggesting Bobby?”

“Can’t believe I’m about to suggest this but… I know this psychic down in the Bayou…”

“Why do you sound unsure, Bobby…?”

“We separated on not so good terms…”

“Oh great so you’re saying she probably won’t help.”

“You can try. She’s one of the best. You’d have to travel a good distance though and she lives in the Bayou all isolated and such. She’s good. She might be able to help.”

“Okay what’s her name and number?”

“Doesn’t use a phone…”

“What? Okay address then…”

“She might not be able to help, might even slam the door in your face when you tell her who sent you…”

“Then I won’t tell her.”

“Then you’re not getting to her. She only sees those who know people she knows, Sam.”

A frustrated sigh followed by, “Okay give me the address…”

“Are you sure, son?”

“What other choice do I have, Bobby. We have nothing.”

“Well all right just be careful… Oh and take a bottle of strawberry wine with you. It might get you further.”

“Strawberry wine, Bobby…?”

“Just take it.”

“Okay.”

Sam waited for the address and wrote it down before saying goodbye and beginning to pack up the Impala. He was already feeling better than he had in several days happy to just be doing something to help Dean instead of sitting on his ass and wallowing in self-pity.

* * * *

Consciousness returned to him slowly and without awareness he released an unbidden scream as the pain in each of his shoulders flared. He managed to silence any further cries as he put effort into lifting his head aware that he was failing miserably at the task. As his body continued to tremble he became aware that he was cold, freezing and that his clothes felt like ice upon his skin. Drawing in a shaky breath he tried gritting his teeth as he became aware of the constant steady stream of frigid water traveling lazily down over each of his bare feet only to plummet into mid-air before impacting the floor in a loud resounding splash. The steady beat reminded him of a sink tap left to drip constantly. The sounds echoed around him in staccato mixing with the quiet whistling of what he could only assume was wind beyond the room he was presently trapped in.

Without conscious thought he released soft moans as his body continued to quiver and shake reminding him again of just how cold he truly was. He tried moving his arms crying out as pain sliced at him for the foolish attempt before settling again.

Attempting to draw his head upwards he released a haggard yelp managing to do so for several moments before it dropped back down sending new pain ricocheting up over numb limbs. For the span of several minutes he did nothing except concentrate on calming his breathing and pulling strength to him to lift his head again. His head was pounding now as he tried to relax. After several more minutes passed he dared to open his eyes uncertain as to what he’d see and relieved when he found himself gazing at a tiled ceiling, or what had at one time been a tiled ceiling, half of it seemed to have collapsed or caved in at one point, which drew his attention to the chains presently on his wrists. If they were secured in the tile they wouldn’t support his weight for much longer, but as he forced his eyes to track the length of the dark black chain to where it was anchored he noticed it appeared to be driven into the concrete that had been hidden above an apparent drop ceiling.

Relieved he allowed his eye lids to fall back into place again aware that though he was now able to see the light still bothered his eyes some. They had apparently adjusted to the change in lighting but not fully. Swallowing hard he tried to relax further hearing the faintest beat of his heart and the subtle ringing in his ears. Blocking it out he tried to clear his mind of everything, attempting to empty it only to become even more aware of his predicament than he had been previously as the coldness filling him seemed to get colder and his neck began to ache in response to the position of his head. He had to move it. He attempted to again lift his head grunting as the effort became too much. Giving up he decided to tolerate the increasing pain in his neck opening his eyes again to stare in confusion at the ceiling above. He searched the ceiling for something to focus on aware that his eyes weren’t focusing. Squeezing them temporarily shut he opened them again a surprised cry of pain escaping between clenched teeth as dizziness flared and his head fell forward, chin now resting on his chest. It was then he chose to move his arms squeezing stiffened fingers closed and crying out as the small shift triggered a resurgence of pain.

He had to get out of this mess. He couldn’t remain here. Forcing his eyes open he found that he was now looking past his dangling feet to a filthy floor beneath made of roughened stone now concealed in various places under piles of dirt, broken tile and mortar. Just where the hell was he being held?

Forcing his head up again trying to focus all attention on scanning the room to ignore how frozen he now felt he found himself gasping. In front of him and to his right were walls that stretched high ending in several small windows that presently shed the only light in the room. Both walls looked as if they had been scoured and all the paint formerly on them had settled to the filthy floor beneath.

In some areas he could see darker spots that he would guess were formed by water or moisture. He attempted to study the walls grunting as his vision whited out on him and his ears began to ring loudly. He attempted to focus and felt as if he were suddenly falling fast. Reaching out he gasped as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the chain currently keeping him suspended from the ceiling feeling several sharp edges jabbing into the cold palms. The chains must be rusted, or stripped, warn like the walls of his present hell. He tried to release but as another violent tremor racked his body he instead tightened his grip cursing as his teeth began to chatter again. Shit, why was he so cold again?

Shaking his head he suddenly realized he had never warmed up in the first place and wanted nothing more than to curl up and snuggle deep into a pile of warm blankets. Unfortunately what he wanted didn’t matter at the moment so instead he trembled trapped in chains that held him fast dangling from a ceiling in a room that held no warmth…alone. As that final thought echoed hauntingly in his mind he quickly tumbled back into the seductive darkness that had been tugging at him since he awoke.

* * * *

Sam drew awake so abruptly that he wasn’t sure where he was. His heart was racing as if he had just been running a marathon and his brother’s name was on his lips as he sat up.

Fear was presently pumping into his system going head to head with adrenaline making him feel extremely anxious and easily startled. He swallowed hard grimacing at the dryness with which his throat was filled and tried to recall the dream. All he could remember was Dean, blackness, a sense of urgency, of danger…Dean calling out to him, falling and then nothing. Had he imagined it all or had it really happened? The dream was confusing and didn’t make a damned bit of sense, but he felt certain it was important and struggled again to recall the details cursing when he had little success.

As frustration quickly replaced the fear within he jumped to his feet, pacing, pausing at the one desk in the hotel room and staring, not for the first time, at the picture of Dean on his missing poster. Sam felt his anger building, his fear and worry mounting and snapped, “Where the hell are you, Dean?”

Shaking his head he squeezed his eyes shut trying to will a vision to appear with no success. He had had one, only ONE, and had hoped it had meant something but none have occurred since that day, and he was still at a loss for what to do next. Bobby had suggested he visit a psychic, and he intended to do so first thing in the morning already suspecting that she’d have little success tracking Dean either. Sighing he rubbed at his eyes admitting that he was no closer to finding Dean than he was a month ago, and his fear threatened to settle in for the long haul.

As he gazed out the window of his hotel room his eyes settled on the sleek shiny black car in the parking lot, Dean’s car and Dean should be there with it not lost. The last time he had lost Dean he nearly went insane turning to Ruby and daring to use his dark curse. He had needed to fight, to continue on. He had needed to get revenge on all the evil sons of bitches in the world that still lived while Dean had not. He had been angry and reckless after Dean left certain that he would never see his brother again. Now, now he was alone again the difference being that this time Dean was out there somewhere, still alive. He just had no idea where to even begin looking and not for the first time he found himself cursing the angel who could have, should be helping.


	9. Do Angels Weep?

**Part 9: Do Angels Weep?**

_I asked my brother one time if he believed in angels. He told me no, and I felt so sad. As I watched him turn from me I wanted to cry but instead found myself asking a simple question, “Dean?”_

_“Yeah Sammy...?”_

_“Do angels weep?”_

_He was caught off guard, surprised by the question I think. I was so certain he would walk away. Instead he turned to me lowering before me as he placed a gentle hand upon my shoulder smiling softly and answered, “Yeah, Sammy, I think maybe they do.”_

 

“Hello Samuel.”

Turning abruptly Sam glared at the angel snapping, “What do you want?”

The reaction he had gotten in return was unexpected as Castiel sighed heavily his shoulders slumping forward. It was then he looked into his eyes, and what he saw there made him feel instantly ashamed. He opened his mouth intent on apologizing for the harshness with which he had greeted Castiel only to fall silent again as the angel spoke, “I stayed away for so long…because I felt ashamed.”

“What?”

“Dean is my responsibility, Samuel, and I lost him.”

Instantly he was attempting reassurance as he responded, “You didn’t lose him, Castiel, you...”

“I searched the world over, Samuel, and he is no where to be found. It is like he is just...gone. I do not like the loss of our connection. It leaves me feeling quite...”

“Alone?”

Castiel held his gaze for the span of a heartbeat before he looked away managing a quiet, “Lost...”

“Wait a minute you mean the whole time, since his return, you could... _feel_ my brother?”

“Yes a bond was formed when I saved him from perdition.”

“And now...?”

“Something is interfering. I know he is out there. I sense that he is, but I cannot...feel his presence any longer. It should not be this way, Samuel.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

Castiel gazed at him again before replying, “The moment I could no longer sense him I began to search for him.”

“So wait you’re telling me that you’re this all powerful being who can’t find one human?”

“We are not all powerful, Samuel, and yes I can no longer sense his presence. It is as if a wall has been raised, a veil drawn over him, concealing him from my sight.”

Sam’s brow creased with worry lines as he began to think tensing before tightly asking, “Have you ever experienced something like this before?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When we were tracking Anna... One moment she was there and then...”

“She wasn’t.”

“Yes Samuel.”

"I think I know why."

Castiel looked at him expectantly frowning severely as Sam told him of the mojo bag they had created before replying, “So we have no way of finding him?”

“I’ve been searching and all I’ve had was one vision and a dream which I’m not even sure is connected.”

“Dreams are very powerful, Samuel. Some contain messages, some do not. They are a link between what we know and what we don’t yet understand.”

“Yeah...so...”

“This is unexpected.”

“No this...it’s not, it wasn’t the same as when… I mean I think they’re connected, but I’m not...”

“I see. Tell me about this dream.”

“It’s just images really, flashes of Dean. I hear him calling to me, get a brief glimpse of him then he’s swallowed up in darkness and I wake up.”

“A message...”

“What? No just my overactive imagination.”

“Perhaps he is somehow connecting to you.”

“What? No. Dean doesn’t have abilities.”

“Then perhaps you are connecting with him?”

“I don’t know, but I’m no closer to finding him.”

“This is unfortunate. We must locate him again.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Yes I am.”

“What?”

Gazing at Castiel he suddenly remembered angels, of course they wouldn’t get sarcasm much. Shaking his head he continued, “Well it’s good to see you anyways. I was getting worried.”

“Angry.”

“Yes and worried.”

“Do you think I would so quickly abandon my charge?”

“Well no, I mean...”

“I have been appointed to him. He is my responsibility. He has been placed under my care.”

“You mean you’re his guardian angel, right?”

Castiel didn’t respond, and Sam simply smiled as he muttered, “Yeah that’s what I thought.”

* * * *

It was unnerving to have his vision taken from him simply so those who held him could better control him. He had to rely on them to guide him through the countless meandering halls and rooms. He had been certain they took him on one main route, but the amount of debris beneath his feet told him otherwise. The last hall he had been in felt sandy and grainy while this hall felt dirty and cluttered. It also smelled damp and moldy. The air in this particular hall felt wetter than the air had felt in the room he had just left. It was a bone-chilling dampness that made his bones ache, made him want to crawl under a heap of covers and sleep.

Out of force of habit he found himself gazing downwards attempting to see through the obliterating darkness the blindfold cast him in. He knew if he could that he’d be looking solely at his feet and the floor beneath probably skirting around the majority of the stuff he was presently walking through. As he continued to force one shaky foot in front of the other he realized that if he wasn’t presently being accompanied by two who gripped his upper arms to make him move forward that he’d probably fall flat on his face. The weakness in his body was becoming apparent. He was struggling more than before to move about, unfortunately that was a side effect of captivity, of being kept tethered at all times and being denied the most basic of things. He was certain that they wanted to keep him alive but weak so as a result food and water were given at random intervals, enough to keep him alive, able to move about at least some but not to keep him strong. He hated it.

As he stumbled he became aware that he was dragging his feet instead of picking them up like he should be. Each step was shaky and uncertain. He didn’t trust those who were guiding him to lead him and as a result felt very nervous. He tried to visualize the floor he was walking upon tensing as his right foot sank into what felt like a pile of soft dirt. As he took his next step he cursed as his foot nearly overturned when it slipped on what felt like a long wooden beam. His automatic response was to reach out and brace himself. As his hands caught on metal he tensed lifting his bound eyes as if to focus on what he now gripped between his fingers. Holding his breath he cautiously ran a hand lightly over what he was holding on to. As his fingertips brushed over a roughened surface he felt his stomach drop. Feeling a distinct gap followed by more roughness told him all he needed to know. The more he ran his hand across the strange surface the more certain he became of just what he was touching. He squeezed his hand around one of the thin poles to confirm it and as the cold rusty metal dug into his palm he became certain that he was gripping prison bars. A moment later he was being physically ushered down the hall again and his fingers fell away from his most recent discovery. His attention quickly focused once more on making it down the hall without breaking a leg as he shifted forward nervously feeling the fallen debris around him.

He searched for solid ground aware of the loose pieces of roughened wood he was now working his foot cautiously through. He thought briefly of snakes and spiders gasping as his foot found purchase on an equally cold gritty floor. His foot felt buried in loose boards, and he again hesitated to take the next step. His ‘handlers’ weren’t patient. Instead of permitting him time to regroup they were again yanking him forward. As he was man handled he winced when the side of his foot tore open. Automatically he drew back refusing to take another step certain that his foot was sliced deeply. Immediately a harsh icy command was barked in his ear to move. He tensed further swallowing hard then drawing in a calming breath before nodding. As soon as they started to move again he returned his attention to cautiously feeling his way down the hall dreading being kept barefoot by his captors.

Soon the floor beneath him became a smoother surface and he was tramping into a pile of what felt like crushed stone. Drawing his foot back he heard a chuckle as the person to his left said, “It’s only stone, Dean, chipped stone and dirt...nothing that’ll cut your feet. Now come on!”

He wanted to kill the glib bastard but held back. Aware that his situation wasn’t the best he nodded soon feeling the gritty path give way again to a softer floor, no doubt coated in a fine layer of dirt if the sudden intense smell of earth was any indication. He didn’t think as he muttered, “Where...where are we?”

“Some place you’ll NEVER be found.”

The words made him shudder, but he quickly ignored them focusing solely on continuing to place one foot tentatively in front of the other. When they stopped he was relieved to feel the blindfold dropping away from his eyes. As he saw only darkness before him fear began to surge forth prompting him to again ask, “Where the hell are we?”

The man laughed then responded, “Long time ago this was a very _special_ place... It was designed for... _special_ people.”

He turned able to just barely make out the face of the man addressing him while squinting against the brightness of a flashlight. In moments he was turning away as that little amount of light set his eyes to watering. Hearing a loud click he was unprepared when he found himself suddenly air born. As he attempted to stop himself from flying he stumbled twisting his body and grimacing as his left shoulder collided painfully into what felt like a stone wall. Next the loud sound of a door being slammed shut proceeded by an overly loud click told him that he was now locked in. Turning he tried to see those who had tossed him in jumping when moments later their voices echoed eerily down to him from above as they chuckled before saying, “Don’t worry, Dean, we won’t forget about you down there. We still don’t know what purpose you serve or why you were the only one lucky enough to be pulled out.”

A second voice echoed down as the other said, “We will find out Dean, and when we do there will be questions, but for now we need you to just hang tight.”

Silence fell down around him after that and he became aware that his new cell came complete with dripping water, darkness and cold. He attempted to rise bracing himself against the stone wall before feeling his way along it. What he felt beneath his fingers wasn’t very reassuring, especially when his hands enclosed around the iron door that trapped him here. Feeling along it he became more certain of his latest suspicion: he was in a prison, an abandoned prison most likely in the middle of no where. The chances of him being found by Sam or Bobby or hell even Cas were...so pathetically low that he didn’t even want to think about it.

He felt an overwhelming urge to scream as his hands fumbled over the lock on the door stiffening and cramping on him due to disuse and injury reminding him that his hands, at the moment, were pretty much useless making the ability to pick a lock quite the challenge. He knew, of course, if he managed to undo the lock that he’d no doubt have others he’d have to work through not to mention the number of, no doubt countless...demons, he’d hazard a guess, he’d have to make his way through to obtain that freedom.

As his hands refused to comply with his brain he traced the door before cursing. Shaking his head in frustration he then turned and continued to feel his way around his new prison. By the time he was back to where he had assumed he’d started he needed to rest. Hating his body’s weakened state he tried to ignore the fatigue seizing him but soon surrendered as he sunk to the floor.

Drawing his knees to his chest he rested his head shuddering as the cold metal resting against his sore, damaged wrists added to the coldness of the room. They had removed all other restraints except for the wrist shackles and luckily for him his hands had been secured in front of him. Thank God for that. It was one good thing in a whole line of bad.

His exploration both winded and exhausted him while also revealing to him just how small a room he was now in. He’d guess the cell to be no more than 8x8 in diameter, which equaled to damned small. His only hope was that by some miracle someone would find him before death did.

* * * *

He was running down a long hall littered with countless debris while thousands of voices pursued him. Darkness was all around him and the walls seemed to be closing in on him from all sides. As his foot impacted with something sharp it was then he realized he was bare foot. He swallowed hard staring at his feet before fear filtered in springing him into action yet again. He ran but as he did the hall he was in only grew longer. The darkness pursuing him drew closer until he felt trapped. Forcing himself to run faster he was unprepared as he tripped. Automatically he reached out grappling for a hold his heart lodged in his throat. As his fingers closed around something solid he released a startled gasp surprised as his hand wrapped around cold rough metal. He halted frozen as the darkness fell around him encircling him, encompassing him, stealing his vision until all that was left was his sense of touch, his sense of smell and his sense of hearing. He tensed fighting back panic as he suddenly felt like a tiny being in the midst of an overwhelmingly large structure. Closing his eyes he tried to block it all out but uneasiness filled him.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised on end as an unnatural coldness settled over him. He breathed and knew that if he could see in the inky blackness it would appear as a white cloud before him. The moment he thought that the air snapped with an unnatural electrical current, and he was certain the hair on his head was raised unnaturally in the electrically charged atmosphere. Trying to ignore it, trying desperately to escape he centered on the metal he clutched in his hand. Carefully, slowly he eased the grip before running fingers over the roughened surface. Squares, the metal was actually pieced together to form slatted squares. As his hand brushed over definite bumps he was certain these were bolts and as he opened his eyes he found himself trapped in a cage. Glancing up he saw a stone ceiling far above his head, etched into it was an oddly carved window that provided little light. Below his feet was dirt like sand the cage was small, just big enough to lay full length in and as the last bit of light winked out the sounds of scratching and whispering flooded his senses, piercing his ears, climbing in crescendo until the screeching burst his ear drums.

As he fell towards the ground pain slicing deeply into his head he became aware the floor was gone and he was falling rapidly, his body flipping and flopping like dead weight as it plummeted into darkness. Certain he was about to hit the bottom of an endless dark pit he braced himself and jumped awake gasping desperately for breath as if his lungs were starving for oxygen.

As the ringing in his ears subsided he automatically reached to touch them expecting to feel blood running freely from each but as he drew his fingers before him they were merely wet with sweat. Focusing on the ceiling above he calmed his breathing aware that it had been a dream. It had all been a dream so vividly real he’d have sworn he was right there...wherever there was.

Shaking his head to clear it he drew to his feet then approached the sink. Cranking it on he lowered over it watching as water filled the palms of his hands running, overflowing like a fountain before he drew them upwards splashing his face liberally. The cold snapped him awake, and he found himself pressing his hands to the counter watching as the faucet continued to run. The broken images of the dream began to dissipate and with them he felt as if there was something important there in those remnants of a nightmare, something he needed to hold onto. Shaking his head he muttered how absurd that feeling was then raised his head to gaze in the mirror. As his eyes settled on it he saw darkness, stone walls high, darkness overwhelming...and in the center of it all Dean collapsed inward upon himself curled so tightly in a ball shaking violently.

He jumped back uttering a hoarse, “Shit!” as the image faded away. Dean, it had been Dean he had seen he was certain but why and...?

Dark corridors, dark cages, the feelings of being pursued, the need to run...

_Fuck, Dean!_

Was he channeling him or something? Was Dean trying to reach out to him through his dreams? Had there been a message in those distorted images, in the nightmare that even now was fading from his memory? Shit!

Shaking his head he raced to the table and snatched up the small notepad immediately grabbing a pen and just started writing...

_Bars, darkness, running, voices pursuing…dirt, gritty floor, darkness, fear, an overwhelming sense of panic... Afraid, so afraid, uncertain, had to leave, had to escape, run, fast, can’t be found, can’t be stopped, needed to get away. Help, comfort, safety, needed Sam, Sam, Sam, he needed Sam...cold, so cold, alone, always alone, afraid, need freedom, help, no one, why? Why was he alone? Help, locate, how to locate, missing, get message, Sam, Sam, get message to Sam. Desperate need, immediately, please...hurry._

His hand stopped writing and he gazed in shock at the paragraph of words he had written. Free association...stream of consciousness… He had just started writing and what he came up with revealed more to him than any search had. Dean was speaking to him, calling out for help. Dean was alive, and he had to find him. Unfortunately as he re-read what he had written he realized it wasn’t enough. There was nothing other than bars and gritty floor to describe where he was. However the stream of conscious had revealed feelings, probably the feelings Dean was presently experiencing.

Swallowing hard he pulled the paper off the pad, folded it neatly and put it carefully in his pocket unwilling and unable to leave it behind. It was a connection to his brother, albeit an awkward one, it was a connection just the same and that little piece of paper was like a priceless treasure to Sam. He would yield it to no one, for it was a little piece of his brother and that little piece meant the world to him.

* * * *

The days they merge and blend. The smell of mold and decay is an almost constant. The steady drip-drip of water pounds a clear pattern into the stone floor he lay upon. In moments he’ll be lying in wetness, the dampness almost overwhelming when it rains. He opens his eyes to darkness, a bone weariness filling him. His body aches, his skin feels cold and clammy. Shivers begin to wrack across his body in an attempt to warm him, to some how help ease his present discomfort. He lies on his back his gaze directed at the infinite blackness that surrounds him. He tries to recall what the sun looks like. How it feels against his skin, but sadly his mind draws a blank. He thinks of his brother, of Sam, but the harder he tries to picture him, to envision him, the more his face fades from his mind. Sadness begins to filter in next making him feel alone and lost among the ruins...

As a soft voice echoes around him he tenses recognizing the call as his very own name: Dean. He hasn’t heard his name in so long that it sounds almost foreign to him. He hasn’t been visited except on occasion now since they tossed him down here, down beneath the surface buried in a pit that long ago earned the reputation for being a virtual hell on earth. In its hay day the room had been called the hole, solitary confinement...or so the voices labeled it.

As his name echoed eerily around him again it sent a cold chill through his body. They visited him often but rarely did they attempt conversation. Too scared, too angry or just plain didn’t give a shit. He wondered what drew them to him now. He had never before been a receptor to all things supernatural, or at least to the dead who no longer had voices. Now they sought him out as if briefly touching life made them feel more at ease. They hadn’t hurt him, not yet anyway, and he was glad for that. He had sensed from the beginning a collective anger that sparked and surged among them. He knew the spirits were all angry and was grateful that none of them had chosen to torment him. Instead they seemed to join him staying in the room or visiting briefly before vanishing again. Almost as if they wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. Some days he wondered if it was all a dream, while other days he secretly feared that he might actually be crazy.

His life presently felt meaningless yet he struggled and fought each day to survive. He held onto hope, fragile as it was, that someday he would be found again and prayed that if it did he would be able to fully recover. He feared permanent injury at times wondering how long a body could tolerate being kept in a forced position. His arms were still lashed and had long since lost all feeling in them, his legs weren’t far behind.

As an unnatural cold touched his shoulder he hissed momentarily confused, afraid one of the spirits had decided to touch him. As he shifted he released a groan of disgust when he discovered his right side now rested in a puddle of water. The rain had made it to him, and now he’d be frozen before dawn, or dusk whatever the hell time of day or night it was. Moaning as the water seemed to seep into his bones he forced himself to sit up and felt his head pounding in retaliation. Shit.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut he pressed his hands to the floor pushing stiff numb fingers across rough stone once again grateful that they had opted to lash his wrists before him instead of behind his back like previously. Feeling along the floor he winced as the mix of water, dampness and dirt painted his palms. He knew the walls were close to him. The hole was small, more a cage than a hole cramped and dark.

As his fingers scrabbled across a corner he released a sigh of relief. He had found the wall, or rather a wall. Now he’d have to find a relatively dry spot to rest his back against. Unfortunately as he silently willed his fingers and hands to touch, stroke and brush the wall he could feel a slick almost slimy residue beneath them that could only mean one thing: the walls were as damp as his prison, but at least water wasn’t pooling on the walls like it now was on the floor. He continued to run his hands across the stone no longer ashamed when he drew to his knees and crawled about on them. Standing would no doubt land him flat on his face as his numb legs would no doubt choose to drop him on his ass if he dared try to place them under him. He was weaker, even simple movements now winded him.

As he found a spot that felt surprisingly drier than expected he crawled to it and carefully eased onto his behind pushing his back into the cold stone wall and allowing his head to drop back against it. Carefully pulling his legs up he tried desperately to ignore the sheer amount of numbness in them cursing as just as quickly as he settled thousands of tiny needles began to jab at them. The move, small as it was, renewed life in his severely numb legs. He knew he’d probably spend the next hour regretting it, but at least he could feel _something_ in them now.

As he began to relax he allowed his eyes to slide shut listening to the distant sound of rain drops against a rusty roof. The sound soothed him but at the same time the absence of all other sound made him feel extremely alone. No movement could be heard above, no chatter filled the air any longer, no creaks or groans of an old building settling could be heard. He was completely and utterly alone, forgotten, left to rot away in an inescapable prison.

As the silence stretched he soon became afraid that he would die here. This room, this place would serve as his crypt, as his final resting place and he could think of no other worst way to go. To die alone, trapped in a stone prison, trussed up and starving...he’d no doubt join the masses and become one of those lost souls who now haunted the place. As those thoughts settled within he wanted to scream... He needed to get out of here, needed to be found and for the first time since he was little he bowed his head and prayed.

* * * *

Bobby hadn’t intended on joining Sam, not yet anyway. He had planned to monitor the phones in case someone would call with possible news on Dean, who seemed to have all but vanished off the map. After Sam’s last call he knew that he’d be joining Sam sooner if for no other reason than to stop his apparent descent into hopelessness and despair. When Sam called him and told him that Dean’s angel had finally decided to show himself he settled on heading out to meet up with Sam convinced that they could do a hell of a lot more working together than apart.

Upon arrival at Sam’s latest hotel stop he discovered that the angel still remained and looked almost as discouraged as the youngest Winchester. Shaking his head he demanded to know what was going on. Sam kindly filled him in. When he asked what their next move should be the overwhelming lack of any kind of an answer triggered Sam’s present bout of pacing. As he glanced at Castiel he noticed that the angel seemed to find Sam’s pacing extremely interesting. They were a sad bunch with no idea of how to even proceed and still the one that they all desperately sought remained missing.

Sam was pacing again Castiel knew he should have become used to it by now. Back and forth wearing holes in the floor...or so that’s what Bobby said he was doing, yet he still didn’t see the start of any hole. Shaking his head he glanced at the older man before his eyes settled on Sam. They were running out of time and...

Unconsciously Castiel released a surprised gasp that drew the undivided attention of both men. Tensing he centered a gaze on Sam who was asking what was wrong. All he could manage was a soft quiet, “He is praying,” in answer.

“What? Who?”

“This is good...”

“What? Castiel, what...?”

The angel silenced him with a raised hand as he focused on the rough, barely audible, voice. It was strained, hoarse and scratchy from disuse. There was an edge of panic to it, it sizzled in the air snapping audibly like an electrical charge. He was afraid, terrified that he would become lost and it was that...desperation that had him calling out, searching for solace, some kind of solace, some kind of comfort in an otherwise brutal harsh world. The sadness around him was like a siv bleeding into his consciousness, drawing him closer to his location, drawing him to that quivering voice speaking out in a hopeless world.

He had to reach out, to touch that soul, to renew his hope before he surrendered. If he did, if he stopped fighting he would die trapped in a place that reeked of lost souls. Silencing his mind, blocking out all others he focused on that small bit of light in the distance, one single soul calling out, desperate to be found. As he felt the brush of his mind he found it almost devoid, black save for the feelings of fear, of desperation, of sadness and panic. He was cold and very weak. His light was diminishing, soon to wink out if he were not located...without thought Cas reached out calling softly a name, his name hoping he could hear him, hoping he would see: _Dean. Dean. Please hold on. We are coming for you._

Unsure if he were even heard he tried again and his attempt this time was thwarted. The last thing he heard was that desperate voice calling back whispering: _Cas, help me. Please...find me_ , and then the wall went up. He was forcefully blocked, cut off from his charge. The return was so unexpected that he could only gape when he realized he was in someone’s arms being held, two distinct voices shouting over him. As he glanced up all he could manage was, “Dean needs us,” before the blessed silence fell down around him.

Sam, startled by Castiel’s sudden buckling to the floor, immediately reached out catching him in his arms before turning frightful eyes Bobby’s way as he snapped, “What the hell, Bobby?”

“I don’t know, Sam. He’s your angel friend.”

Sam focused on Castiel who was now unconscious in his arms shocked that an angel of the Lord could be unconscious. Shaking his head he said, “Help me get him to the bed.”

Together they managed to before settling him. Sam then asked, “You think...?”

“What Sam, what?”

"He said Dean’s name, said he needed us. You think...?"

“He connected with him? I don’t know, Sam. I suppose it’s possible, but why can’t he tell us where Dean is if he...”

“I don’t know, Bobby. Still I wonder...”

“Yeah me too, me too.”

Two sets of eyes settled on the prone figure as hope and fear mingled vying to become one as they watched the angel sleep.

* *

The connection had been so faint, so unexpected yet Dean could swear he had moments ago felt the softness of feathers brush against deadened skin, hear a voice call to him, felt a presence _within_ him but as quickly as it had appeared it was gone again and voices now echoed from somewhere beyond him. Angry voices and strange comments sliced the air traveling down to him. He tried to concentrate, tried to listen but his mind was presently to confused to make sense of what had just happened and what was now happening. Snippets filtered and random words such as: _‘shield’_ , _‘shouldn’t have happened’_ and _‘move him’_ sliced the air around him echoing from far above. He was at a loss tensing as her voice spoke to him from the darkness, “They’re worried.”

Licking his lips he managed to force out a harsh gruff, “’bout what?”

“It shouldn’t have happened, shouldn’t even be possible.”

“Wh’t?”

“They’re coming.”

“Who...?”

“Maybe not today, maybe not even this week, but they will come.”

“Who...?”

“You know who.”

Drawing in a deep breath and swallowing hard Dean managed, “Eleanor why help...?”

“I’ve told you Dean, I...”

“Don’t lie...please.”

“I’m not.”

“Then help...”

“I can’t.”

“Won’t...”

“Dean.”

He didn’t answer her instead he closed his eyes and tried to ignore her. She angered him. He didn’t understand her. She said she wanted to help him, yet worked with those who held him here. While she didn’t torture him she didn’t help him either. She visited, sometimes played mind games, sometimes didn’t and then she left. He wondered, not for the first time, how she got herself involved with those holding him and was certain her involvement was so much more than she let on. She was hiding things from him, that he knew but what he didn’t know. She reminded him of Meg appearing innocent when really she was here to ensure he remained imprisoned. He didn’t trust her and almost resented her part in his captivity.

Sensing she was still there he licked his lips wincing as the cracks in them began to burn before saying, “I’m dying, you know.”

Silence answered him so he waited and as it stretched his anger grew. When she spoke again he jumped in surprise literally, “Yes, I know.”

“So _help_ me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“How...?”

“You must be patient.”

“ _Patient_ , what the fuck lady...”

“They will be here soon. You must believe that. You must hold on. Give them time. They _will_ come for you.”

“Right...”

“I wish you would believe that.”

Then she was gone as quickly and as quietly as she had appeared. He almost called her back tensing as the angry voices overhead seemed to raise several octaves. Something had happened and his captors weren’t pleased. Even now he could hear them arguing over what to do next. As another chill wracked his body he draped his bound arms over his folded legs and drew them to his chest before pressing his face into his kneecaps. As the voices continued to rage above him he tried to ignore just how cold and miserable he truly was.


	10. Glimpses of Time

**Part 10: Glimpses of Time**

Castiel was still unconscious much to Sam and Bobby’s chagrin. They were worried about him. _Something_ had happened, something big. Angels didn’t just faint. It wasn’t normal, yet there he lay atop a hotel bed an angel of the Lord felled by...a vision, dream...what would you call what had just happened between Dean and his angel? A psychic connection, foresight, what...?

Shaking his head Bobby settled his gaze on Sam, who was back to pacing incessantly. Watching him drift back and forth through the room Bobby wanted a distraction and quickly said, “I take it you never made it...”

Sam’s pacing stopped as his head whipped up confusion crossing his facial features as he asked a question of his own, “What?”

“My friend in New Orleans... I take it you never made it.”

“Oh the... No, no Castiel sort of...”

Nodding Bobby casually inquired, “Still got that wine?”

“Yeah it’s in the...”

Focusing fully on Bobby a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he continued, “Are you thinking what I...?”

“Yep...”

“Be right back.”

As Sam exited the room Bobby settled in the chair beside Castiel waiting for him to awake. Sam returned quicker than Bobby had anticipated, bottle in hand, his gaze seeking out first him then the angel before he asked, “No change?”

“Nothing...”

Sam sighed heavily prompting Bobby to reassure, “Be patient. Give it time.”

“Yeah.”

Lifting the bottle into the air Sam smiled offering, “Wine?”

“Not my first choice but it’ll do.”

Sam’s smile broadened before he grabbed two glasses and filled them each generously to the top before settling beside Bobby to keep vigil over the still resting angel.

* *

Sometimes as he lay on the dirt floor that made up his bed, he’d close his eyes, calm his breathing and just _listen_. There was always activity going on around him, invisible to most but not to him. He knew it was there, that they were there, so many lost and restless spirits, so many ghosts. Sometimes he’d just listen to the incessant pacing, the eerie tapping upon rusty old pipes creating echoes where none should even exist. Whispers would rent the air, some desperate, some sad, some indiscernible to his ears and breezes, cold spots seemed to be a far more common occurrence here than it should be. Oddly enough when he stopped and just listened it would calm him and help him realize that he was still very much alive but trapped like all the others, trapped in a place with no life at all.

Sometimes he could smell the woods when listening, for aromas became sharper, more distinct when he tried to focus on one specific sense. The level of concentration he could get to was sometimes scary for when he came back to himself he was certain time had moved, changed and brought him one step closer to either his inevitable end or his eventual release. Those times he could smell the woods he’d draw in a more relaxed breath. The scent was heavenly, for it made him feel alive, to smell that sweet tangy woodsy scent so different from the stale mustiness of his present prison. He could get lost in it...

Startled out of his reverie he jumped wincing as his body protested the sudden movement. Hissing he swallowed hard pressing his forehead into the dirt as his ears honed in on the unnatural loud slapping of shoes against hard packed earth. It echoed down here. Everything did reminding him again that he resided in a pit. He listened as the sound drew near. They were coming. He knew that they were. They usually left him alone, but would visit on occasion to force water into him or just to taunt. He tried to calm himself, relax his body, act as if he weren’t wide awake and on full alert his body now charged like a live wire ready to snap and spark at the faintest of touches. Already he was subconsciously drawing his feet towards his hips in preparation to kick the visitor if he so much as dared approach him. He listened with bated breath waiting for the recognizable whine of the creaky door to his cage as it opened inward on its hinges. He remained still trying to appear asleep while his body thrummed and surged with barely harnessed energy.

He heard the person stop, no doubt waiting and leery having experienced several rounds with his feet in the past. He wasn’t going to fall for it again. His visitor struck out kicking him lightly, and it took all the strength he could muster not to react. Biting into his lip he quickly silenced the wince that wanted to escape and waited. He continued to listen hearing the man’s movements spoken loud and clear to ears that had grown extremely sharp since darkness fell around him. He knew at any moment his visitor would make his move and as he did Dean struck out. The action was rewarded with howling followed by a feral growl as the man lashed out grabbing for his throat. Dean, hearing the movement, snapped out biting at the offending hand, intent on hurting him. The result was his assailant cursing and drawing an arm back no doubt to backhand him. The movement was suddenly halted by a stern voice snapping sneering, “Leave him be, damn it. You know he’s a fighter.”

“Shouldn’t he be too damned weak to fight by now?”

“Nah, he’s a Winchester. They don’t give up.”

“Son of a bitch has fangs.”

Unable to remain silent he growled in a hoarse voice, “Shouldn’t be putting hands where they don’t belong, asshole,” that ended in a cough as his parched throat protested.

“You need to mind your tongue...”

“Or what you’ll kill me?”

“Smart ass.”

“Would you two knock it off already?”

The one he kicked muttered, “Well he started it.”

Dean couldn’t resist as he snapped, “Whiny bitch,” and practically choked as a kick sought and found his midriff. He carefully drew his knees up this time to guard his stomach from further abuse and jarred only slightly as a voice spoke so near his ear, “Winchester, water...”

“No.”

“You want us to force you?”

“No.”

“Then drink the damned water.”

“No.”

“Hold him...”

Dean immediately attempted to lash out wishing he was stronger and cursing as he felt a blow to the head that knocked him half senseless. As he recovered he became aware that he was pinned and one of his assailants gripped his lower jaw painfully forcing his mouth to open. He attempted to jerk away only to feel the grip increase to the point that he released a painful grunt. Instantly water was being poured into his mouth and as it ran down his chin and up his nose he started to choke on it expelling most of it.

Angry and disgusted that the attempt didn’t meet with the result he had wanted his assailant released the grip on his jaw and Dean turned his head to the left still coughing. As he felt the pressure ease on his legs he rolled over onto his side only able to tense as he was immediately seized and drawn upright a hand twisting into his hair and yanking so harsh he screamed. When another arm snaked around his throat in a choke hold he struggled harder gasping as his air was ceremoniously cut off, a cold voice menacingly informing, “Keep fighting and I won’t stop.”

Finding his air cut off and black spots presently assailing his vision he attempted to nod settling as the choke hold eased. Opening his mouth to draw in a steady breath he stiffened as he felt water entering his mouth and again started to cough. Planning to expel it a second time he was unprepared when a vicious hand clamped tightly firmly over his mouth and a snarled command to ‘swallow’ was issued. He tried to resist, tried to spit it out but in the end had to swallow it in order to breathe semi-normal. The same routine was repeated several more times until his captors were satisfied and released him. Falling to the floor he could only cough and collapse inward upon himself to wait out his present pain. When he regained control of it he tensed as a cold harsh voice snapped so close to his ear he could feel their bated breath against his skin, “If you would’ve just drank when told to then this all could have been avoided. Next time do what you’re told, Winchester.”

Then the footsteps receded, the door to his cell slammed shut and he found himself alone in the darkness once more.

All of their visits were like that now. They’d arrive, force him to eat or drink, rough him up a little and then leave. They had relaxed only slightly after the unexplained incident that had them arguing. Now he heard them a lot more patrolling at more regular intervals than before. He’d sometimes hear them arguing and sometimes not. Other times he’d catch snippets of conversation but usually all he heard was the normal sounds of an extremely haunted building.

They hadn’t moved him again choosing to keep him locked below ground perhaps thinking that by doing so he wouldn’t be located. He didn’t know. Occasionally when he cast his eyes heavenward he could see faint light. It would hurt his eyes, but he strained trying to make out the ceiling above his head. He had thought the roof to his prison was stone with a small grate in the center, but the more he stared upwards at it the more he realized it was in fact a rather large grate with slatted bars crisscrossing in a checkered pattern. Over top the bars was what looked like chicken wire stretched over the openings. He felt like he was in a damned cage watching people walk overhead; walk over him as if he weren’t trapped below. It was depressing and rather nerve-wracking all at the same time.

Shaking his head he attempted to draw upright waiting for the usual dizziness to disperse before sliding cautiously back against the wall hissing as the cold dampness taunted his skin. He was utterly miserable and hoped that someday he’d be able to feel dry and warm again...someday.

* *

As Castiel opened his eyes he saw the youngest Winchester hovering over him asking if he were all right. He nodded when Sam said he fainted but knew it was impossible. When Sam told him about what he’d said before losing consciousness he abruptly sat up announcing, “We must find Dean.”

“Yeah got that, any idea where we should start?”

“Perhaps...”

“What?”

Sam sat up straighter focusing intently on Castiel waiting for him expectantly to continue and sensing Bobby right beside him. Castiel continued, “The place is very dark, like a pit, cold and very...silent.”

Sam shuddered before asking, “And Dean was there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“The place it was old, decrepit… Many, many souls reside there.”

“Many souls like in a graveyard Castiel, a moratorium?”

“No he is in a building, a very big building.”

“And...?”

“We must locate him.”

“Castiel that doesn’t help us much...”

Nodding he closed his eyes before adding, “He is located on your Eastern Coast in an abandoned building, a place where many have suffered both in life and in death.”

“Okay...”

“That is all I can tell you.”

“Okay. Did you see anything when you connected with Dean?”

“I just told you...”

“Anything else like I don’t know...did you look around, see anything in the architecture that may have seemed odd or memorable?”

“Architecture...”

“The design of the building...”

Shaking his head, his face lined in consternation he spoke again, “Fourteen...”

“What?”

“The number fourteen...”

“What does that mean?”

“I do not know. It seems important.”

“Okay fourteen… Anything else...?”

Closing his eyes he continued, “There is little light. He yearns for it to touch him to feel the sun upon his face, but it never reaches him.”

Sam swallowed convulsively suddenly wondering if it were such a good idea to quiz the angel, for his words especially THOSE WORDS stirred up so much. He closed his eyes lowering his head as they echoed in his mind. The sun never reaches him... Shaking his head, licking his lips nervously, he softly managed, “Anything else...?”

“The ceiling is made up of a metal grate.”

Sam perked up waiting for more detail tensing when Castiel continued, “It spans the length of the ceiling and is covered in...wire?”

“Yes?”

Castiel nodded before continuing, “People walk over it. He always sees shadows, hears them but rarely sees them. He... The place is made up of spindles.”

“Spindles...? What? Castiel that can’t...”

“Spindles of darkness like spokes on a wheel...”

“Castiel that makes no...”

Castiel leveled a gaze on Sam the intensity of it making him shuffle nervously before Castiel continued, “Architecture…”

“What?”

“You said to focus on the architecture, on what I could see, the design of the building.”

“But spindles Castiel that’s not...”

“Spindles, it’s the shape of the building Samuel.”

“What? There aren’t any buildings shaped like...”

“Perhaps not now...”

“What do you mean?”

“Buildings lose their shape as time wears upon them.”

“Ah.”

“Is it enough?”

“Not really. I still don’t know what you mean by _spindles_ , Castiel.”

“There is a main building from which halls, corridors, stretch outward in the shape of a spindle like a wheel.”

“Okay well we can try it, see what comes up...”

Sam pulled out his laptop and turned it on. At the search page he tapped his fingers against the table before entering a search for architecture and spindles. As the results appeared before him he tilted his head saying, “Okay so we’re getting things with spindles, but...”

“What?”

“They’re more features than anything, you know like spiral staircases, furniture spindles and house plans...”

“Is it enough?”

“To determine which building…? No I’m afraid not, especially since all we seem to be getting is features of buildings, in buildings that are spiral and not...”

“There has to be...”

“Wait Castiel we have another name for places…in the shape of spindles.”

Bobby looked at Sam as if he were crazy. Sam shrugged and asked, “Would you say the building you... Is it sort of round?”

“Yes in the center and the spindles extend from it like spokes on a...”

“Wheel...radial, it would have to be a radial floor plan then, wouldn’t it?”

Bobby shifted as he said, “Sam you’re reaching...”

“No, no there were structures built with that plan…,” his hands quickly flew over the keyboard bringing up a new list of choices that had him continuing, “Old hospitals and mental institutes... Some were based on a radial, circular floor plan.”

“Okay so what...”

“Let’s see...,” speaking as he read, “House plans, log homes, American architecture...”

“Sam that’s still not...”

He held up a finger tacking “hospitals” onto the end of his keyword search. After hitting enter he pointed, “See there’s a link about asylums here.”

“Is it any help?”

“No too many to...”

Bobby spoke then, “Narrow the search to abandoned places.”

“I did, still a lot.”

Castiel spoke then, “Your dreams...”

“What?”

“You told me you have been having dreams and visions.”

Sam could feel Bobby’s eyes on him, burrowing into him. He forced his gaze to Castiel answering, “Yeah but they’re not...”

“Perhaps they are more real than you choose to believe?”

“No Castiel I don’t...”

“What did you see?”

“What?”

“Describe the building you see.”

Sam shook his head replying, “I never see much of it just darkness, long corridors. I feel clutter on the floor, wood, dirt, broken objects…things like that but not much else.”

“Have you ever touched anything?”

Sam sat up straighter holding up a finger before searching through several pockets and drawing out the note he had written after his last dream. Sensing eyes on him he answered, “Um little experiment of mine.”

“Meaning...?”

“After my last…vision I felt I was missing something, like there was something I, I don’t know, needed to pay attention to I guess. So I picked up a tablet and just...started writing. This... I, after I read it I kept it because it felt, feels like it’s connected...to Dean in some way.”

Castiel interrupted then asking, “What does it say?”

“I...”

“Read it.”

Nodding he read it muttering, “Bars...”

Bobby spoke then, “Come again?”

“Bars, I felt bars.”

“Like...?”

“ _Prison_ bars.”

Bobby felt suddenly anxious and excited at the same time, not understanding why he chose to ask, “Are there any prisons with the same features Castiel described?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think...”

“Well look it up you idgit.”

“Right, right...” turning back to the computer Sam added ‘prisons’ to his search words and hit enter. As his selections appeared he felt suddenly breathless his chest tight as he managed, “Uh guys you’re never going to believe this.”

"What? Believe _what_?"

“Do we have a location, Samuel Winchester?”

Sam stared at the search results then muttered, “Anyone up for a trip to Philadelphia?”

“Philadelphia?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“What’s in Philadelphia, Sam?”

“I’m thinking maybe Dean.”

“Are you sure?”

“No but when I typed in ‘prisons’ almost every single search result is...”

“What? What Sam? What?”

“It’s more of a where Bobby.”

“Sam...”

He approached looking over his shoulder as the screen jumped to a black screen with the words: _'History: Pioneers in Criminology: John Haviland’_ typed across it. Shaking his head Bobby inquired, “John Haviland, who the hell...?”

“He apparently designed correctional facilities Bobby, according to this both prisons and mental hospitals...”

“What the hell does that have to do with Dean?”

“Bobby the building in my vision I think it was an abandoned prison.”

“Okay so would there happen to be one of those in Philadelphia?”

“On the outskirts of Philadelphia, Bobby, it’s been sitting empty since 1971.”

“You got that from a name?”

“No opened another window, searching through Wikipedia too.”

“And...?”

“And this place sounds like the perfect location to keep someone hidden.”

“Which place would that be, Samuel?”

Licking his lips he replied, “Eastern State Penitentiary.”

Bobby hissed prompting Sam to ask, “What?”

“Heard of that place before...”

“How?”

“When I was researching a case several years ago that name came up. It’s supposed to be a hot bed of paranormal activity, Sam.”

“When you say hot bed Bobby like how hot are we talking?”

“Reports of shadows, multiple shadows roaming the halls, tapping on pipes when no one’s around, screams, whispers, wails, thousands at a time and some creepy white cats.”

“Creepy white cats, Bobby?”

"Yeah no one knows where they all come from. They say the cats are all strays and just sort of...gather there."

“Why didn’t you ever pursue the case?”

“Someone else was, didn’t want to step on toes.”

“Anything else Bob...by...”

Both Castiel and Bobby focused on Sam as his words trailed off and his face went suddenly pale making Bobby anxious enough to ask, “What, what is it son?”

“Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Castiel said the number fourteen seemed important.”

“Yeah so?”

“Cell block fourteen in Eastern State Penn was...is...”

“What Sam? What?”

“Solitary confinement...reported as a dark pit in the ground. Hidden beneath another cell it’s...”

Castiel spoke then with certainty, “That is where Dean is.”

Both Bobby and Sam whipped their heads around to stare at the angel before managing, “What?”

“I am certain.”

“But...how?”

“I just _know_.”

Sam looked at Bobby, Bobby at him before saying, “Guess that means we’re heading to Philadelphia.”


	11. Passages

**PART 11: Passages**

As they stood before the remains of the abandoned prison Sam lifted his gaze taking in the huge tower reaching into an encroaching forest above and the crumbling stones that had at one time completed the building. The few bits he could see of the roof left his heart feeling heavy in his chest. It had sagged with age looking as if it had even caved in some areas. Was there any hope of finding Dean, of finding anything in _there_? Saddened by what he saw he spoke more to himself than the others around him, “Do you think he’s here?”

The silence that answered him was unnerving. 

“He is.”

They both turned to gaze at the angel Sam asking, “How can you be sure, Castiel?”

“There are several demons inside and in the midst of them an ever dimming light. We must go quickly. Time is not upon our sides. The demons must be dealt with swiftly.”

Bobby focused on the angel feeling his hope renewed and quickly volunteered, “Let me take care of them. You help Sam find Dean and get him the hell out of there.”

“There are too many. You will need our aid.”

Bobby nodded gazing at Sam asking, “You got that floor plan?”

“Yeah…,” drawing it out he held it up, Bobby leaned in questioning, “You sure these are the actual floor plans, Sam?”

“Yeah, pretty sure…”

“For Dean’s sake I hope you’re right.”

Sam glanced briefly at Bobby before returning his gaze to the building schematics. Tapping the bottom half of the map Bobby muttered, “If I’m looking at this right the warden’s office should be just inside to the left.”

Sam gazed over his shoulder adding, “Looks like it’s the main entrance. Once passed there we’ll have to go down a lengthy hall.”

“We’ll need to make a right next, and go down another hall…which will no doubt be crawling with demons.”

“Yeah according to this map the area we want is in a secondary hall that off shoots to the left.”

Focusing again on the floor plans of the spindle shaped building Bobby muttered, “The building has a lot of halls. Is there a more direct route? What about this huge outer wall pictured can’t we just follow…?”

Castiel spoke then, “They will be watching that particular hall closely. It is the most direct route to him.”

“Can we get to Dean from there or…?”

Sam spoke then, “It’s hard to say.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam looked at Bobby continuing to explain, “It’s an old building that’s been abandoned for years. The ceiling is probably caved in several places, not to mention that half of the halls are cluttered with broken boards, pieces of equipment, piles of dirt and rock…”

Bobby tensed pinning a stern gaze on Sam as he questioned, “And just how the hell would you know that?”

Sam shuffled nervously shaking his head dismissively. Bobby muttered, “Those damned dreams. Sam we can’t…”

Castiel spoke then, “I have seen the same when I was able to connect with Dean. The way will be treacherous and dark. We must be careful.”

“Great so…we ready?”

Sam and Castiel focused on Bobby both nodding, “All right then let’s get our boy back. I’ll take the inner halls.”

“And I the outer…”

“And while you two are wreaking havoc on the enclave of demons I’ll search for my brother.”

“Cell block fourteen, Sam, remember that.”

“Yeah…”

“Let’s do this.”

Unanimously agreeing they all set off in their perspective directions each not knowing what they would encounter and each determined to find Dean.

****

He actually liked it when it was quiet and calm. When there was no sound to be heard except the typical creaking and cracking of an old building settling. The only other sounds were that of the odd rustling, hushed whispers upon the air, and the soft moans of those spirits still here trapped among the rubble. He now found their presence soothing and calming. He didn’t feel so alone. Feeling a subtle breeze brushing across his clammy flesh he shivered then carefully moved to wrap his arms tighter around himself. Cold, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. The cold stole the warmth from his body leaving goosebumps across his flesh and making him constantly shudder as his body fought to conserve heat. At these times he wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in a snug blanket but knew it would never be. Still he thought of it more often than he cared to admit. His body ached fiercely now, and he was always tired. He was certain that his life would soon fade away and he’d be lost to all. Never to be seen or heard from again. It was sad really, but he knew it was inevitable. Sighing in frustration he curled tighter into a ball and closed his eyes trying hard to ignore the sounds of his chattering teeth as momentary sleep tugged and drew him away.

****

Drawing out his flashlight Sam entered the building pausing just inside the entrance to shine the light around. The area was slowly crumbling away, water could be heard dripping off in the distance and the building was frigid. He shivered at the unnatural coldness of it. Drawing in a calming breath he quickly realized that he didn’t need an EMF meter to tell him this place was spook central. It _felt_ like it and as he pushed his way further into the building past what looked to be old rusty metal twisted into an unidentifiable shape the voices slammed into him, thousands of them whispers, cries, wails. He fell back against the wall as an overwhelming sense of fear and anger laced, tainted the air around him. It was so overwhelming he thought he’d suffocate under it but as quickly as it occurred everything went suddenly eerily silent. The only sound remaining was that of the dripping water he had first heard and a sense of foreboding so intense he nearly turned back. Angry that he had even considered it he marched ahead boldly determined to make it to wherever the hell his brother might be all the while hoping, praying that Dean hadn’t lost his mind in this oppressive place.

How long had he been here? Weeks, Dean had been here _for weeks_ and he mere minutes. Shit! He’d only been here minutes and was ready to turn tail and run feeling overwhelmingly lost. Weeks, fuck! It had been _weeks_ for Dean.

Silencing his crazy thoughts Sam refocused his attention on moving forward. He had to find his brother. He had to stay focused, centered. He had to stay alert, pay attention and get the hell moving. NOW!

Without further hesitation he drew in a second calming breath and continued down the hall noting the difficulty with which breathing seemed to be due to the overwhelming smell of musty decay and rotting wood flooding his senses. The place had been closed up for some time leaving behind stale air and dampness. The place wasn’t even fit for an animal and Dean had been here for _several weeks_. He shuddered again and dashed those thoughts to ribbons realizing he had again let his mind wander. Focus, damn it, he needed to focus!

Continuing down the hall he shined his light around then onto the map. The hall should split off soon in the direction he needed to go he just needed to get there. Attempting to move faster he soon discovered it was an impossibility as the further in he traveled the more he had to watch his every step due to the sheer amount of clutter and debris piled and strewn about. At this rate he’d _never_ find Dean. The feeling alone served to make him surge forward, treading more cautiously but quicker. His heart began to beat faster as an unexplained urgency filled him. He was positive that Dean was here. Now he just had to find him.

As he progressed he nearly missed the small hall splitting off from the main one. He had even walked by it but something, an invisible force, _something_ slammed into him and he felt a sense of wrongness that he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was residual, left over from his dreams, his visions, he wasn’t sure but something was causing dread to fill him. Turning around he walked back a few steps and halted gasping as he shined his light around and down another dustier, darker corridor. How had he almost missed _that_?

Shaking his head he glanced at the map and headed cautiously onward aware that this hall was filthier, dirtier than the other one and something about it felt almost _familiar_. As he suddenly stumbled he cursed reaching out, grabbing for a wall to halt his inevitable topple to the ground. What he felt beneath his hands upon halting his fall stole his breath: bars. He had felt those before in his dream, which meant…

“Dean I’m coming. Hold on, man, just a little bit longer.”

Filled with a sudden resurgence of hope and determination Sam stood back up and literally marched onward certain now that his brother lie somewhere at the end of this hallway. He continued onward moving with more confidence jumping and cursing as his brother’s angel suddenly appeared beside him, “Shit, Cas, don’t _do_ that!”

Castiel peered at him almost curiously cocking his head slightly to the left as he simply said, “Your brother is this way.”

_“What?”_

“I can feel him now.”

“You and me both Cas, you and me both.”

Castiel stared at him making him feel suddenly nervous. He quickly shook it off continuing, “The demons, Castiel, what about…?”

“They are no more.”

“And Bobby…?”

“Is in the outer hall heading towards us…”

“Okay so…”

“Let us retrieve your brother, Sam. He must leave this place before it destroys him.”

Sam nodded and continued on tensing when, as he drew near the end of the hall, Castiel vanished only to call to him from inside a cell. Sam quickly entered asking, “Dean is he…?”

Castiel pointed down at what appeared to be a large hole cut in the center of the floor, a heavy metal grate rested atop it with a large master lock affixed to it. Without hesitation he ran to the grate calling his brother’s name his breath hitching as a weak husky voice answered back echoing eerily from below.

* *

Hearing the newest sounds above him he looked up straining to hear, certain he had heard a familiar voice calling his name. As a flashlight shined into his prison he winced managing to stutter, “Sa…Sam?”

“Dean? Oh my God Dean! Cas, Cas how do we, we need to get down there.”

Dean raised his bound wrists above him shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness while straining to see beyond it. His eyes watered and burned as a result becoming so painful he had to turn away managing, “Sam, Sammy the light…please.”

He couldn’t see him but knew he was there and wanted desperately to see him. As if his brother became aware that the light was hurting him he quickly apologized and turned it off. Dean felt the loss almost immediately and wanted to panic relaxing only when he heard Sam’s voice addressing another, “We have to get down there, Cas.”

Then his brother cursed muttering something about damned angels that had him sniggering for no apparent reason. Within moments he gasped, crying out as a warm softness suddenly enveloped him. Without hesitation he burrowed into it craving the warmth and praying it would remain. He didn’t question where it came from he just on instinct moved towards the source tensing as a familiar voice spoke to him as if he were a frightened child, “Do not be afraid, Dean. It is only me. I have found you.”

The gravelly voice that pierced the air around them made him cringe as he put a name to the voice, “Cas…so warm.”

“I have wrapped my wings around you to keep you warm, Dean. You are half frozen.”

He nodded relieved to feel the familiar scratchiness of polyester beneath his cheek. Cas spoke again, “Sam is attempting to find a way to you. When he arrives I must withdrawal my wings.”

Dean whimpered before managing, “Others…”

“The ones who have done this to you were swiftly dealt with.”

“You…”

“Bobby and I mostly.”

“Used some…mojo…”

“It was necessary.”

“Ah…”

“Rest Dean for you are exhausted.”

“Hmmm…”

Silence filtered in as Cas felt his charge relaxing in his arms as sleep swept him under. It was then that Cas allowed his head to tilt back gazing above as he sent a prayer of thanks to his Father for his help in locating Dean. Around them he could hear the dripping of water, the eerie creaks and whispers that were so much a part of this place and the sounds of Sam Winchester desperately trying to make his way to his brother.

When finally he heard Sam’s approach he drew his wings away from Dean and tucked them back against his body. Dean murmured a protest and Cas softly urged him to rest before speaking, “Sam follow the sound of my voice.”

“Cas that you?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“With your brother… He is in need of medical attention he…”

Clanging and a flashlight sweeping the interior of the small pit indicated that Sam was there. As Sam settled the flashlight on the two of them he cried out in relief before calling to Bobby then asking, “Is he…?”

“He is resting. He will not be able to leave here of his own volition. He will likely need to be carried.”

A loud clank indicated Sam had the door rested open and immediately he ran to Cas dropping uncaring into the puddle of water before his brother pushing away the sudden chills that filled him as ice water sucked greedily into his jeans. He reached out a shaky hand and held it over Dean’s mouth and nose needing to feel the warm breath coming from them that would indicate he was still alive. As Dean’s breath tickled his hand it was then he reached out cupping his face gently before uttering, “He’s so cold.”

“Yes. I have been attempting to keep him warm, but we must get him out of this place.”

As Sam tilted the flashlight up it cast an eerie light upon Cas’ face making him gasp as he could see a distinct trail glistening upon each cheek. He asked, “Cas are you…crying?”

Cas’ gaze settled again on Dean as he answered, “Many have died here in this place, in this very room. We must get him out of here.”

Nodding Sam helped Cas stand prepared to take Dean into his arms but Castiel refused to relinquish his hold. Instead he questioned, “Do you remember how to get us out of this place?”

“Can’t you just zap us…?”

“I do not want to risk it. He is too weak. Please guide us.”

He wanted to argue but instead simply nodded. Together they carried Dean out of the crumbling prison and to the Impala meeting Bobby halfway. Once to the car Castiel told Sam to climb into the back seat then settled Dean in it helping Sam to draw his now unconscious brother to him. Sam slid until his back hit the door then nodded to Castiel who helped him draw Dean into his arms. Once Castiel settled in beside the Winchester brothers Bobby started the car and pulled onto the road. As he drove Sam and Castiel worked on carefully removing the restraints still lashed crudely upon Dean’s wrists. As they feared the moment the restraints were off Dean unconsciously arched his body hissing and slowly tossing his head as feeling began to return. Castiel and Sam quickly began to massage his arms while speaking softly, calmly to Dean aware that with the sudden resurgence of blood flow to numb arms pain would also follow. When several tears leaked from behind Dean’s closed lids in response Sam began to hum quietly to him. Castiel looked at him confused and Bobby asked curiously from the front, “Metallica Sam?”

“He told me once that it calms him. I figured it was worth a shot.”

Bobby shook his head smiling as he continued to drive. Gazing in the rear-view he asked, “So hospital or…”

Castiel spoke then, “He is vastly malnourished and dehydrated.”

“Hospital it is then.”

Arrival and admittance to the hospital went quickly and smoothly. Soon they were being called to visit Dean who was presently hooked up to intravenous liquids and a heart monitor. As Castiel had said Dean was very malnourished and dehydrated. Various bruises and injuries were also found. 

As Bobby settled beside the bed he noted both wrists were wrapped and Dean’s skin tone damned near matched the color of the bed sheets. He was extremely pale and had lost weight. The unhealthy pallor of his skin made the bruises on his face and exposed arms all the more menacing to take in.

Reaching over he grasped a pale cold hand in his warm one and muttered, “Damn it, kid, don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

As if he had heard him Dean squeezed back, Bobby leaned closer to him and Dean’s eyes fluttered open. He attempted to smile around the tube presently in his mouth turning towards Bobby who managed, “You’re welcome Dean. Now get some rest.”

Dean nodded and almost immediately his eyelids slipped closed again. Within seconds he was once again asleep.

**

Two weeks later Dean was released from the hospital and able to return “home.” He had orders to follow over the next few weeks to rebuild his strength and health and Sam was going to make damned sure he would follow them. 

As they entered the newest hotel room Sam helped Dean to a bed and watched as he settled upon it soon drifting asleep. After watching him for a while he decided he’d better get some food so hesitantly headed out hoping, praying Dean would be all right, that Dean would be safe while he was gone.

He didn’t want to leave, even for a few minutes, and felt silly really, kind of foolish at how he rushed to the restaurant but his eyes constantly glanced back to see if any new cars pulled into the parking lot of their hotel. He lost count of just how many times he looked behind him back to the door leading into their room just to make sure no one entered while he was away. His fear of losing his brother again was palpable, a living breathing thing, an issue that would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

Sighing heavily he had rushed into the restaurant his hand on his phone when his order seemed to take forever to be filled. He was worried he’d lose Dean again. When the food came up he practically ran back to the room heart in his throat as he opened the door with quivering hands. As he entered he noticed Dean was no longer asleep and scanned the room relieved to see him sitting at the table laptop open. Drawing in a calming breath he approached saying “Brought food…”

Dean glanced up, took in the food wearily then downcast his eyes before fixing his gaze on the screen again. Sam softened his voice as he said, “It’s just soup and bread, Dean. You should be able to keep it down.”

He caught the slight grimace from Dean that had him continuing, “I know it’s not your usual, but you have to start slow, start with something at least healthy.”

His breath hitched as Dean’s still gruff hoarse voice filled the room, “Do you know what they put in chicken noodle soup, Sammy?”

Relieved to hear his brother’s voice he answered, “Noodles, chicken and broth… Look Dean it’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah…still don’t have to like it though.”

“No but you need to eat it.”

Dean lifted his gaze again still looking extremely exhausted despite the fact he had slept over eight hours. He noticed the pale color of Dean’s face hadn’t yet changed either and the sweater he wore looked three times too big on him. The sweater belonged to him, one of his old ones. Dean usually didn’t wear one but ever since his return he’s been complaining about being too cold so Sam yielded it. He knew he was a bit bigger than Dean but it scared him to see how Dean seemed to get lost in the overly big sweatshirt. He had lost more weight there then was healthy.

Shaking his head he drew out the soup which, despite his initial protest, Dean snatched up and began opening almost immediately. Without thinking he chided, “Eat slowly Dean or it’ll make you sick.”

Dean opened his mouth to form a comeback he was certain but instead of uttering one he simply nodded. Sam only relaxed when Dean took a tentative first bite and hoped they could get him back to eating full course meals sooner rather than later.

They ate in silence Dean gazing at the screen of the computer while Sam watch him. When Dean stopped eating and pushed the soup away he smiled noticing that all of the broth was just about gone and Dean was taking the bread, nibbling on it like a damned rabbit, but at least he was eating it.

When he finished his own meal he stood and cleared the table sitting a 16 ounce bottle of water right near Dean’s left hand, his subtle way of telling Dean he needed to drink it. Once that was done he approached secretly smiling when Dean while focused intently on the screen grabbed the bottle, twisted the cap off of it and took a few sips before sitting the bottle down and refocusing on the screen.

Settling to his right he asked, “Dean, what are you doing?”

The brief anxious glance tossed his way had him worrying and as his gaze settled on the screen he gasped, “Eastern…why are you looking up _that_ place, Dean?”

Another nervous glance had him tensing demanding, “Dean?”

He sighed before cautiously asking “When you found me did you… There were men right?”

“Demons yes”

“Did you see a woman?”

“What?”

“Was there a woman Sammy, _with_ the demons?”

“No. No there was no woman. Why?”

“She… There was when I was there.”

“What?”

“Pretty about thirty five I’d guess, blond hair, blue eyes…”

“Sounds like fantasy girl, Dean.”

“No” came his harsh reply before he continued, “She was there. She was real. She was working with them. You didn’t…she wasn’t…?”

“No, Dean. There was no woman.”

“Maybe she got away then.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“She…helped me. She…I believe she was a nurse, at least I’m certain and she was there, Sammy. She was real.”

“Are you sure, Dean? Are you sure you didn’t just make her up?”

“No, no Sam. She came to me, tended to me, held…held me when I… No. She was real. I know she was.”

“Is that why you’re on the site to see if…?”

“No, no that’s ridiculous. I just, I was curious and wanted to…you know, see how it used to look and…if it actually…existed.”

“Oh it does, Dean, that place was real.”

“Demons can fuck with your mind, Sam.”

“Needs to be some pretty powerful ones to do that… Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Silence fell then between them stretching to the point that the only sounds left were the soft whirring hum of the laptop and the tapping of computer keys. Sam watched as Dean searched silently jumping in surprise when Dean spoke again, “They fucked with my head there, Sammy.”

“What?”

“Had me thinking, believing I was in a mental hospital, that I was a mental patient.”

“What? Why?”

Dean shrugged before continuing, “I believed it. At first I was so sure... I wouldn’t talk at all. I just stared out the window.”

A wistful smile graced Dean’s lips as he continued, “There was this playground, you see and I’d watch kids play there. I, it was… I thought you were gone, thought, was convinced dad had killed you and I couldn’t live with it, with the inability to save you.”

Sam moved closer saying hoarsely, “Shit Dean.”

“I often wondered how they did it. When I couldn’t figure it out I was convinced I had lost my mind. I don’t know how long I was trapped in that certainty that belief that I was really in a mental institution. Maybe they drugged me. I don’t know, but it had me pretty fucked up in the head. When reality came back it scared the shit out of me, Sammy. I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. The…the torture started after that. When you found me I…I didn’t know if it was reality or…or if I’m just plain crazy. Scares the shit out of me, Sammy, scares the shit out of me.”

Sam couldn’t hold back as he quickly wrapped his arms around his brother assuring him that he was real, that this was _all_ real. Dean nodded before relaxing against him going so lax he feared he had passed out again. When Dean spoke he released a tense breath and listened, “She was the only constant there, Sammy.”

“The woman?”

“Yes. She was there when I was lost. She was there when I came back. I’d like to find her. Tell her thank you. I was a bit harsh with her wondering why she wouldn’t help me. Now I realize she helped me a lot more than I ever gave her credit for. I’d like to find her.”

“You may never be able to, Dean. She no doubt ran when she heard us coming. She’s probably long gone by now.”

“Yeah, probably right.”

After several more minutes Sam told him he was going to take a shower and entered the bathroom leaving the door ajar so he could hear Dean as he did so. When he was done he returned to see the computer shut off and Dean nestled under a heap of covers asleep again. Sighing heavily he continued to get dressed then drew a chair beside Dean’s bed before lowering to it and watching him sleep. It relaxed him to see Dean sleeping peacefully for once, and he wanted to assure himself he really did have his brother back. Thank God they found him.

He began to nod off himself tensing as something felt…off. Jerking his head up he gasped startled at the man sitting on Dean’s left side only settling when he recognized him as Castiel. Sitting up straighter he asked, “Come to check on him?”

Castiel looked at him with an intense gaze before asking, “How is he?”

“Asleep again, resting peacefully.”

“No dreams?”

“No, not yet.”

“That is good to hear. Is he recovering?”

“Yeah slowly though.”

“That is understandable. His condition was grave. If we had been much later…”

Nodding he asked, “Why do you think they wanted to kill him?”

“I do not believe that was a part of their plan. I believe they became careless.”

“Could they have gained anything from…?”

“No. Alive he is of great value for they do not yet know his purpose. Dead is not permissible. They would have been punished for their foolishness.”

“Do you know why he…? Why you…?”

“He will end the Apocalypse.”

“What?”

“He is the key. He has a purpose that he has not yet served.”

“Ah…”

“Help him through this. It is now your time to take care of him.”

“And you’re afraid I can’t do that?”

“You are the only one who can.”

“What? But…argh!”

Glancing above him he silently cursed at the angel who disappeared as quickly as he had appeared finding himself wondering how Dean dealt with angels and their penchant for appearing and disappearing at random. It was something he’d probably never get used to.

Shaking his head he looked at his brother and smirked when he saw Dean was looking back through sleep laden eyes. Dean spoke first as he said, “Cas just left, didn’t he?”

“How…?”

Dean shrugged saying, “At least he cared enough to drop in.”

“Yeah. How are you, Dean?”

“Tired, going back to sleep now.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile as Dean closed his eyes again. Shaking his head he relaxed as Dean mumbled, ”You should try it sometime.”

“Smart ass.”

“Bitch.”

Sam shook his head again but instead of going to bed he settled further in his chair and scooted closer to his brother relieved when he heard the distinguishable even deep breaths that indicated Dean was asleep once more.

It would be a long recovery he knew for Dean and for him, but he was certain they’d both be fine in the end. In the morning when Bobby stopped by he’d tell him about the girl and see if he had seen her. Dean seemed almost worried about her, and she seemed to be somewhat important to him. Perhaps if they could find her and Dean was able to properly thank her, despite her associating with those who had imprisoned him, then he’d finally be able to put this whole situation behind him. He was already certain though if she were involved she went to ground, which meant that they’d never find her again.  
Whatever happened he would be there with Dean, for Dean, through it all and together they’d make it through.

As his brother shifted upon the bed he watched him a bit longer before likewise climbing into bed and going to sleep. Glad that he finally had Dean back and determined to keep him safe from now on.


	12. A Prayer for the Dying

**PART 12: A Prayer for the Dying**

Climbing into the Impala he was hesitant to let Dean do this, but if he insisted he wasn’t going alone. Dean had this sudden crazy notion to return to where he had been held prisoner. When he asked his brother why he wanted to return all Dean would say was he had to find something. They had argued about it: Sam pushing the issue due to fearing what the return would do to his brother, Dean pushing because he just “needed to do this.” When Sam thought more about it he wondered if Dean was still worrying about whether his experience was real or imagined. Some days he was certain Dean was confused as to whether he was really back with him or still trapped there and only imagining Sam were with him. Perhaps he no longer trusted his own perception of things and this was a way to prove it to himself. Either way Sam wasn’t about to leave him take this journey alone so he climbed in and shut the door. Watching his brother as he started the car and pulled onto the highway.

The drive to the edge of the woods was silent. Once there Sam recognized the nearly indistinguishable path leading back to the ruins that served as his brother’s former prison. As he gazed out the window he shuddered wondering how they had even found the damned place the first time. It was so overgrown how the hell…?

Shaking his head he wondered why he never noticed it before. The place was nearly obliterated by the surrounding woods encroaching on it from all sides. The only indication that there was something there, other than the scraggly rock path, was some fallen stones strewn about and the little bit of stone jutting up through the dense branches that was the tower. How the hell?

Nervously he asked, “Are you sure this is the right place, Dean? Nothing even looks the same.”

“Yeah I’m sure.”

“I swear this place was easier to see when we came after you. It doesn’t even… How did we even find this place?”

“I don’t know but apparently you did or I wouldn’t be here now.”

Sam nodded but the feeling of uncertainty and creepiness remained. This place didn’t seem normal, instead it seemed intimidating, cold and forlorn. They weren’t supposed to be here. Shaking his head he asked, “Dean, why are we here again?”

Dean glanced briefly at his brother saying, “I need to check into something.”

“But Dean this… It’s the woman, isn’t it? I told you there was no one here just those guys and…”

Ignoring his brother Dean climbed out of the Impala clutching a paper in his hand as he walked. Watching his brother vanish behind the crumbling prison Sam sighed before likewise climbing out and pursuing him. He caught up to Dean at the entrance to what looked like an ancient cemetery complete with a heavy iron arch shrouding the entrance.

Surrounding it was a high stone fence and as Dean pushed open the creaky old rusted gates Sam reached to stop him. Dean shrugged off the hold and stepped into the graveyard slowly searching, stepping carefully through the tall grass before abruptly stopping and paling at a grave marker off to his left towards the back. Sam, fearing for him, approached worried he was going to collapse due to still being weak. His eyes were solely focused on Dean until his brother said, “Sam look.”

Glancing up he too paled before managing, “That’s _her_ isn’t it?”

Dean reached out to carefully pick up the item left on the tombstone and said, “Sam this is my…”

“Your bracelet but…”

“Sam, I was never out here. I didn’t even know there was a cemetery.”

“But that’s yours isn’t it?”

In answer Dean handed him the piece of paper he’d been tightly gripping during the drive here. Sam drew it to him and slowly turned it over. He saw a pretty young woman with blond hair smiling back and asked, “This? This is Eleanor?”

In answer Dean simply said, “Read the caption, Sam.”

“Eleanor McCartney… Dean.”

He lowered before the grave marker gently brushing away the grime and dirt partially concealing her name answering, “She was a nurse. She served as the prison psychiatrist. Had a degree and everything… In 1963 she was killed by one of the inmates. The article says the guards couldn’t get to her on time. It said she was respected and trusted by most of the inmates and a new transfer killed her in an attempted escape. She served here for eleven years.”

“Dean…”

“She saved my life, Sam.”

“The altered realities. You think she…?”

“Guess they’re not all bad.”

“Dean.”

Silence fell between them for some time as the sun set beneath the horizon casting them into darkness. Sam pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. Dean spoke then softly as he asked, “Do you think she’s at peace, Sam?”

Sam paused to think about it and smiled as he answered, “Yeah, yeah I think maybe she is now, Dean. She lived to help people, loved it and she was able to help you. Maybe that’s what she needed to find peace and move on.”

“She was an amazing woman, Sammy. I wish you’d have met her.”

His smile broadened as he answered, “I think maybe I did.”

Dean turned to look at him in surprise, a question on the tip of his tongue. Sam automatically answered, “In dreams she came to me…”

** The End **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eastern State Penitentiary is a real abandoned prison located on the outskirts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was officially closed in 1971 and later reopened as a tourist attraction. The hauntings that Dean experiences in this story (tapping on pipes, flickering shadows, whispers, etc) were all drawn from various witness accounts collected through the years. The prison is believed to be one of the most haunted places in Pennsylvania. 
> 
> The torture scene in which water is dumped on Dean is based on an actual “punishment” used on the prisoners who were sentenced there. There was also a room coined “the pit”, which was a small hole in the ground known as Cell Block 14. This is where Dean was being held at the end of the story. The prison is now a local tourist attraction. Half of the prison has since been fixed up for tours while the other half still remains in disrepair.


End file.
